Strange Bedfellows
by xxkattiaxx
Summary: Summary: A girl without a home, family, or money to call her own. Two recently released from Azkaban wizards made pariahs in the wizarding world for their war efforts. A sharing of space in Grimmauld Place for a bit of time. What could happen? After all, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. SSxHGxLM, Romance/Hurt/Comfort, AU: 10 years after war. Limony 'M' warning.
1. The Price of Fame and Misfortune

Strange Bedfellows

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Summary: A girl without a home, family, or money to call her own. Two recently released from Azkaban wizards made pariahs in the wizarding world for their war efforts. A sharing of space in Grimmauld Place for a bit of time. What could happen? After all, misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

SSxHGxLM, Romance/Hurt/Comfort, AU: 10 years after war. Limony 'M' warning.

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 **A/N:** I'm ba-ack. After a long… long time. It's been three years since I've published anything, and I've got to say it feels good to be writing again. For those of you that have read _Incubi_ , I think you are going to enjoy this story as well. It is not the companion piece to _Incubi_ as I intended it to be. After all, sometimes a story insists on being told a certain way, (my muse is a stubborn thing) and I can't force it.

Lucius, Severus, and Hermione will always be a favorite grouping of mine; so much intelligence, wit, and beauty… at least from two of them… However, I've always preferred my Severus to be sexy. It's that voice, man! May Alan Rickman RIP.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy my tale. Feel free to leave a review in the kitty on your way out the door, and if you have a moment, check out my new fic 'Bride Price', a SSxHG novella I have in the works. What can I say? Three years of abstinence gave me a lot to write about, y'all. :0)

Cheers!

-xxkattiaxx

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Ch. 1— The Price of Fame and Misfortune

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It was a simple miscommunication.

Hermione finished reading the _Daily Prophet_ on a sigh. The big story this week was the release of one Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban, and she had worked tirelessly with Harry to see this accomplished.

Ten years.

It had been ten years since the second defeat of Voldemort. Ten years of petitions and appeals, of talking to Dumbledore's portrait, of backlogged testimony, Priori Incantatem, Veritaserum, and Pensieve use. Ten years of attending parole hearings on the two's behalf, and keeping the still bloodthirsty and all-too-eager public from seeing them Kissed.

And finally, exoneration had been granted; not just for Severus Snape, but Lucius Malfoy as well.

In her research, and once Hermione had seen Harry's memories, her research had been thorough, she discovered a discrepancy between information Severus Snape would report to Dumbledore and what the Death Eater activities would actually be; all of this having come out during the Death Eater trials. For every wizard or witch suspected of being in league with Voldemort or 'Imperiused' in some way, there had been a thorough use of 'Priori Incantatem' used on their wands, some going back decades.

A small crack in the foundation had turned into a crevasse and then a canyon as she discovered just how much Severus Snape _couldn't_ have known about the Death Eater's activities that were thwarted.

…but someone had.

Someone who'd reported straight to Dumbledore, and when that became impossible, due to his death by Severus Snape's hands, the other spy had given his intelligence to Minerva McGonagall who, sadly, hadn't survived the Final Battle to give her testimony on his behalf. However, the body count for Wizarding War II, especially the lead-up to the Final Battle, was supposed to have been considerably higher than it was, and a large reason why the number of casualties were relatively low lay solely with Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy who had played his part so very well, who had given Ginny the diary to let Dumbledore know just what he was facing in the hunt for horcruxes, who had met school-children in the Department of Mysteries and kept them from meeting their deaths at the hands of rabid Death-Eaters out for blood, who had—through appearing bumbling and incompetent in the Dark Lord's aims—been subverting him and feeding him misinformation from Albus and then Minerva all along.

This information had taken years to unearth.

Neither Severus Snape nor Lucius Malfoy had known at the time of the other's loyalties or of the intelligence each would pass on, but both, in their own separate ways, had been instrumental to Voldemort's downfall.

And Hermione was proud to say the day had come where both wizards were freed.

Well, that day had been earlier this week, and she had been there, as she had been every step of the way, staying in the background and letting Harry and the exonerated wizards have the spotlight. Though she had worked tirelessly on their behalves, neither one knew it; she hadn't wanted it to be known because of the antipathy each wizard, due to his own prejudice, held against her.

For though Lucius Malfoy ultimately became a resented hero to the wizarding world, he still was a Pure-blooded Supremacist intent on 'purifying' wizard-kind.

And Severus Snape was… well, he was Severus Snape.

Hermione had met with both wizards nine years ago when her suspicions of Mr. Malfoy's involvement in the side of the Light were just that—suspicions. Lucius Malfoy had, in no uncertain terms, made it clear he never wanted to see her again.

Likewise Severus Snape, her face still scalded when she thought of some the things he'd hissed at her. The wizard was barely able to talk, his throat having been nearly torn out from Nagini's attack. And even there Mr. Malfoy had been instrumental in saving the Potion Master's life, for it was _he_ that fed the Potion's Master antivenin and blood replinisher and kept him alive until Professor Snape could be treated at St. Mungo's.

Mr. Malfoy, and anyone else still alive who had a Dark Mark was arrested immediately following the final battle, the Wizengamot convicting him of high treason and acts of terrorism without due process of a trial and sentenced him to life without parole. Likewise Severus Snape when he had been given medical release was immediately led to Azkaban without a trial, no matter what Harry said in his defense.

But now both were freed.

She had tried to find out from Harry what the plans of both men were now that they had been exonerated by the Ministry, but Harry had been unclear on the subject, telling her only 'they would be fine'.

Well, it was no matter.

Hermione had accomplished what she'd set out to do, had righted one of many injustices the Ministry had committed since Voldemort's second fall, and it was now time to focus on the last leg of her education.

Nine years ago, she had decided to become a Barrister for the Defense when she realized this was what it would take to right so many of the wrongs she saw in the wizarding world today, mainly through appealing to the Wizengamot. Like becoming a muggle barrister for the defense, becoming a Barrister for the Defense in the Wizarding World required seven years instruction.

She'd taken four years of general education at Magus College, London, majoring in Wizarding Law, and had only just completed her required three years of law classes at Wizarding Oxford, graduating at the top of her class. And as soon as she took Britain's Wizard's Bar Examination at the end of this spring, she would be licensed and could, theoretically, begin practicing law.

Having already had several job offers from well-established wizarding firms around the country, she declined them all in favor of a position applying directly to the highly prestigious Council of Advisors consulting the Wizengamot.

This was a relatively new sector of government as it had been instituted by Dumbledore shortly before his death and meant to educate the Wizengamot's typically insular members of the issues concerning the day. Combining the skills of a paralegal, analyst, historian, and lobbyist, they would want her to provide them a unique perspective on issues concerning the wizarding world today.

In other words, she needed to have her finger to the pulse of the wizarding world.

It was a very advantageous and prestigious position, and anyone, no matter their course of study—or lack thereof— could apply. However, thus far, only barristers had been chosen. The reasons for this varied, but Hermione thought it was because of the dissertation one had to write and then be defended against in front of the entire gathered assembly of the Wizengamot.

After all, one had to know the law in order to defend against it.

If she got her foot in the door, then being appointed a full-fledged member of the Wizengamot was almost a certainty a decade from now, give or take a few years, and as one of the Councilors had just been elevated to the Wizengamot's ranks, an open position within the Council would soon be available for which she could apply.

She'd spent years getting her education; now all she needed to do was finish revision for the Bar as well as put the finishing touches to her dissertation and submit her application for review. Should things go as she hoped, she could expect to defend her thesis sometime this summer. And God-willing by fall, she would be a part of the Council and would begin climbing her next 'magic mountain'—as she had a tendency to think of these things—by promoting legislation protecting the rights of sentient magical creatures like house-elves, goblins, werewolves, and centaurs just to name a few.

She aimed to make a change for the better in the wizarding world, and she was determined to do it if she had to, one case at a time.

However, she had one small problem in climbing this ladder to success…

Hermione Granger was broke… and homeless.

Ordinarily at this stage of education, wizarding law students would be expected to sequester themselves for three months prior to taking the Bar. And Hermione had prepared for this eventuality, having saved money by working her way through university by serving at a Muggle fine-dining restaurant. The pay had been good as far as serving went, and she'd learned how to enjoy cooking and tending bar which was an added bonus considering her year of near-starvation spent huddled in a tent.

She'd also cultivated a taste for the finer things in life: good wine, music, and food.

When she had first decided to go to university, Harry had offered to pay for her education, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

Relying on her parents was not an option and never had been since the moment she 'Obliviated' their memories.

After the war, Hermione had been one of the few returning seventh years to go back and repeat a year of revision in order to sit her N.E.W.T.S.

Her pseudo-celebrity status as the famous girl third of the 'Golden Trio' prevented her from taking many of the jobs students working their way through wizarding law school were expected to take: internships at the Ministry mostly and errand-runners. Not that Hermione hadn't exhausted both these routes her first year when she submitted her applications.

She had been ultimately relegated to the bottom-rung of the hiring stack of C.V.'s for the jobs she _wanted_. As the famous friend of Harry Potter, she was immediately discounted as too high-profile for anything resembling serious or prestigious, and the jobs that wanted her, she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole, mostly because these places wanted to capitalize on her 'fame'.

And so, that had left waitressing in the muggle world while she worked her way through wizarding law school.

She had shared a flat with a muggle named Yvonne who also worked at the restaurant and was going through muggle law school herself, and together, they had lived relatively amicably up until last week when, grinning ear-to-ear, Yvonne told her she was moving out at the end of the month, having received an offer of employment at one of Exeter's most prestigious law firms should she pass the Devonshire Bar.

And that left Hermione homeless.

She had three more months.

Three more months of strict study during which she couldn't work. Three more months of revision left before she took her Wizarding Bar Exam, submitted her dissertation and application, and could begin working again—waitressing if she had to—until her application for the Council was approved or denied.

She had budgeted for that, had planned for it down to the knut… but again, that was before Yvonne informed her she was moving out, and Hermione would be stuck with all the living expenses they shared.

In desperation, she was thinking of living once more in the tent when she received an owl from Ginny telling of her and Harry's plans.

The Potter's were going abroad for a year 'before she lost her James to Hogwarts' was how Ginny had phrased it, and though this had been something both Ginny and Harry had talked and dreamed about, Hermione had never thought it would come to fruition, at least not until they were all old and gray.

Lily was still in diapers after all.

However, Ginny had been insistent; she wanted her family to experience a little bit of the world together before they began their Hogwarts' school careers, and they all spread 'hither, thither, and yon'. And so, the family Potter was leaving a week from when the owl had been sent to go on a year-long tour around the globe.

Naturally, Hermione had floo'd and asked Ginny if it was alright if she could stay at Grimmauld while they were away, and though distracted by her middle son Albus and his insistent need for another pumpkin pastie, Ginny had instantly agreed, knowing a little of Hermione's predicament.

And so, four days ago, Hermione had moved in.

And though she had to put up with Kreacher and the portrait of Mrs. Black that they still couldn't find a way to un-stick from the wall, she was relatively happy and secluded, holed up as she was with her books, notes, computer, and schedule of revision.

But just now her stomach was growling and looking out the window, she realized it was quite past dinner-time, and she had revised from breakfast all through lunch as well. Well, that was nothing new. However, she did need to eat something…

Padding to the kitchen in her old pajama shorts and mid-drift exposing top, she secured her hair into a hap-hazard bun, and reaching for her iphone, turned on her music, and cranked up the volume.

It was time to cook.

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Severus Snape looked at the row of brick buildings and then down at the scrap of parchment in his hand before passing it off to Lucius.

The two wizards watched in unison as the old building appeared before their very eyes: Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

And how Severus did not want to be here, but… life had given him no other choice.

Lucius, too, for that matter.

Both wizards were homeless due to the Ministry's seizure of their assets, and until all was sorted out, neither of them had a place to go.

Though Severus knew of Number Twelve's existence and where it was in relation to the other houses surrounding it, Potter had changed the secret-keeper, probably to the Granger girl or Weasley, and so upon doing so, Severus's ability to see the house itself had been magically revoked.

He had the clothes on his back that still had the rips in them from Nagini's bite as well as a few sickles that were in his pocket upon being arrested.

That was all.

But he was free.

Again, he looked up at the cloud-covered night sky and breathed a sigh of relief, his breath coming out in vapor due to the cold.

Free after ten years prisoner, subject to the soul-sucking ways of the Dementors, barely given enough food to keep a dog alive let alone a grown man, and having to practice the strictest form of occlumency-meditation he could eighteen hours a day in order to keep his sanity intact.

He swore he would not feel grateful to Potter for ensuring his exoneration.

He swore he would not.

It was what he was owed, after all, in payment for helping take down the Dark Lord once and for all.

And how many times had he wished Lucius had left him to die in that accursed shack!

He looked askance at his blond brother-in-arms to find he looked much the same as Severus himself felt.

Both were emaciated to the point of harm, and though both were naturally pale-skinned, they had a sickly-sallow look about them now, and it had been hell getting to this point as one or the other had had to stop and lean on a lamppost or each other as they made their way from the Ministry here.

The Knight Bus had refused their admittance.

In fact, everywhere they had gone had refused them service; even Gringott's had refused to change their galleons and sickles to muggle coin so they could go out into the muggle world.

Potter had suggested his home at the start, relating that he, his wife and offspring would be gone for a year abroad.

But not for one moment had Severus even considered taking him up on the offer once he was freed.

Not unless there was no other alternative.

And at this point, there wasn't.

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No wife.

No manor.

No money.

No standing at all in wizarding society.

But he had his freedom. By Merlin, he had his freedom.

And all because of the boy-who-lived, damn him to perdition.

Lucius had not expected to live this long. Like his brother-in-arms, he'd fully expected to die the night of the Final Battle. And if not that night, then the trials to come, certainly, where he would be Kissed, and that would end things but neatly.

But he hadn't. No, instead, he had spent the last ten years of his life pacing his gods-forsaken cell and trying his damndest to keep his sanity in one piece. He was fairly certain he was mostly successful on that score.

Mostly.

He looked up at the grim, old monstrosity that was to be his home for the next year, or until the Ministry decided to return his holdings and unfreeze his assets. But as the Minister of Magic Kingsly Shacklebolt had explained, the money had already been spent, his holdings already sold to make reparations to war victims as well as repairs due to the Dark Lord's war and demise.

In essence, Lucius had nothing but the clothes on his back and a few galleons in his pocket that he had upon being brought to arrest.

They didn't even have wands, both of theirs having been entered into evidence upon being convicted. And, once again, it would be days, if not weeks or months, before the Ministry would see to relinquishing them.

No, they had nothing but Harry Potter's charity.

And how that did gall!

How the thought alone churned his stomach and made him ill. Or perhaps… perhaps it was that he was once more light-headed and nauseous from hunger. It had been several days since either one of them had eaten, every place they'd gone, refusing them service.

Severus had considered them going to the muggle world, but without muggle money, that avenue was useless to them. Both had considered foraging through the trash in Diagon Alley, but even though they were immensely practical, they still were proud.

No, their only option was Potter's Grimmauld Place and his house-elf's food.

Lucius looked over at the sallow-skinned Potions Master beside him and cringed. Severus's usually mangy look was bordering on emaciated now. The wizard had grayed at the temples while rotting in Azkaban. And though Lucius was sure it would give him a distinguished air, should they survive this ordeal, if one could go by looks alone, death would be paying them both a visit soon… very soon.

"Well," Lucius began, "it's certainly not prepossessing…"

Severus rasped, "But it's Potter's home. Come on, before we're noticed," and once more, Lucius cringed whenever he heard his old friend speak. It was a mockery, a bastardization of his former silky voice. The black-hearted blackguards at St. Mungo's had done the bare minimum for his brother, restoring his throat so he could breathe but leaving his vocal chords severed and scarred.

Having more control over his wandless magic than Lucius did, the door opened at Severus's touch, and immediately Lucius heard an absolutely god-awful racket coming from the back of the house.

They entered the dark hallway and saw warm firelight coming from what Lucius could only surmise was the kitchen towards the back. He sniffed the air.

Food.

His gut clinched, and Lucius moaned, stepping forward towards the delicious smell.

Severus, he saw, was more circumspect, first thinking to grab a candelabra, and divesting it of its sticks, brandished it as one would a weapon.

Gaining some sense as well, this house was supposed to be empty after all, Lucius grabbed a bronze statuette of a fairy and quietly led the way forward. He stopped at the entrance and peered inside, the vision before him stopping his heart.

And then set it to racing.

A girl—no… _a woman_ scantily clad in clothes the likes of which he'd never seen was listening to music on some kind of new-fangled wizard's wireless as she performed magic in the kitchen. Lucius felt Severus step around him, and both stood watching entranced as the woman sang and swayed her hips from side to side to the song's beat as she stirred a wooden spoon in a pot.

' _Baby, just give me one reason, oh, give me just one reason why I should stay,'_ she sang, her lovely voice imbued with the smoky flavor of the song.

Even as they watched, she brought the wooden spoon she was holding to her pink and perfect lips, and her little tongue darted out for a taste. Her eyes narrowed in contemplation before going to the spice rack, and adding a pinch of coriander and a healthy sprinkling of salt. She then stirred, dipped and brought the wooden spoon to her lips once more to taste, and nodded, apparently satisfied.

Lucius had never wanted anything more than to know just what the substance on that spoon tasted like, and he would prefer to sample it from the woman's lips themselves, if he could.

As she turned her back to them, her full and luscious hips again swaying once more to the melody, she presented them with a truly spectacular view of her delectable arse in the strange muggle pants she was wearing.

She bent over. Oh, Sweet Merlin! She bent over to check what was baking in the oven, and Lucius heard Severus beside him give a rasping groan. He quickly looked from his periphery to gauge the reaction of his friend only to find he had a thunder-struck expression on his face. And too, he had a hungry—very hungry—look in his eye that Lucius knew had little to do with the food the witch was preparing.

Standing back up, she turned to face them, rectangular casserole dish in oven-mittened hands.

Spying them, she screamed, and the dish she was holding went flying in the air, its steaming contents on a collision-course with her beautifully exposed face and skin.

Severus, ever the Potions Master, hissed and threw up his hand, the dish arrested mid-air and its heated contents falling back neatly into it, hovering mere inches from where it would have splattered on the witch.

She looked at the casserole dish floating above her, and then back at the two of them, and drew a shaky breath. Her form visibly trembling, she reached to take the dish from the air, exposing more of her pale and creamy mid-drift to their view as she did so before turning her back to them and setting it on the counter.

It was a long moment more before she turned back to face them, her cheeks burning and her wand drawn.

Her voice, however, was calm when she asked, "Did Harry invite you two to stay here?"

She looked from one to the other of them, and Lucius nodded. Severus, Lucius saw, grit his jaw and narrowed his eyes.

Drawing a deep breath, the witch lowered her wand and asserted, "Right, then. Neither Harry nor Ginny bothered to inform me of the situation."

"And you are?" Lucius led gallantly, putting down the brass statuary he held and taking a step towards her to introduce himself. He marveled at his stamina. His body was literally consuming itself in hunger, and yet, he could bed this witch right now if she'd allow it. My, but the spirit was willing to throw one over, even if the body at the moment was weak.

She licked her beautifully, plump lower lip, to speak, but it was Severus who answered gratingly from beside him, "Miss Granger, yes?"

Lucius looked at the woman and did a double-take.

No!

Time would not be so cruel.

The little buck-toothed, bushy-haired mud-blooded harridan that had been his Draco's competition for marks all throughout school, had, like a fine wine, matured beautifully into womanhood.

Lucius looked over at Severus to find him with his scowl firmly in place as he looked at her, his eyes roaming disdainfully over every inch of her scantily-clad form, judging her and finding her wanting. Lucius looked back at the witch to see twin flags of color blossom high on her cheekbones and a lovely flush bloom and spread from the exposed portion of her décolleté all the way up her neck.

Looking at his friend and catching his eye, Lucius said via legilimency, _**Quit making the mud-blooded minx uncomfortable. We need her food.**_

Severus gave a huff and crossed his arms, a pale, emaciated imitation of his former Potions Professor's standing.

Turning from them suddenly, the girl reached for her wand, and Lucius had a moment of panic thinking she was going to turn it on them, but no, she extinguished the flame from the eye, and removed the saucepot from the stove, right as Lucius caught the smell of something burning.

Whatever the delightfully-smelling sauce had been before, it was well and truly ruined now; she Evanesco'd the pot, and again, turned to face them, the color in her cheeks and upon her chest still remained.

"Alright, if you'll excuse me, I'm going upstairs to my room to pack. You're welcome to help yourselves to dinner as well as whatever else you may find in the larder." She gave them a small, tight smile and moved to sweep past them.

Severus, however, stepped to the side, blocking her exit.

He pointed down at her and then at the food she had made. "Sit and eat, Miss Granger."

She looked up at him and gulped, and Lucius caught the tantalizing aroma of her perfumed scent as it wafted to his nose; notes of citrus, eglantine roses, and a hint of musk.

Lovely.

It had been so long, so very long since he had smelled the scent of a woman.

"I find I am no longer hungry, Professor Snape," she said as she again tried to sidestep around them.

"Not… _Professor_. Not anymore," Severus grated, taking a menacing step towards her and forcing the witch to back up a step.

"Severus…" Lucius haltingly replied, taking a step forwards as well. This was escalating rather quickly….

"Why are you here?" Severus asked, and reaching for her upper arm, imprisoned it tightly in his hold; his jaw clenched.

What the hell was the matter with him? "Severus, let the witch go!" Lucius ordered, stepping closer to the two of them.

"Answer me!" Severus barked, his voice crackling and breaking to a rough whisper.

The witch leveled her wand at Severus's chest, right above his heart, and looked up at him. "Severus Snape, so help me God, if you do not let me go, I will drop you where you stand."

One look at her face and Lucius knew the witch meant it.

"Severus…." Lucius hedged gently, slowly lifting his hand to place it at his friend's wrist. "Let the girl go."

With a huff, Severus did so, abruptly releasing her; she was out the kitchen doorway and up the hallway stairs in an instant, and Lucius looked behind him at his friend absolutely disgusted with his boorish behavior.

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Hermione once more tried the floo at the location Ginny said they'd be around this time of year, and again she cursed the wizarding world for having no faster bilateral communication than floo or owl post.

She could always send a patronus, but that was a little dramatic, even if the situation demanded a bit of drama.

With one wand movement born of ease and practice, she had all her things spread throughout her room flying towards her old, beaded bag. Now, all that remained was her laptop and books in the study, and she could leave.

It had been a simple mistake.

Of course it had been, neither Harry nor Ginny being very detail-oriented, and it was obvious what had happened.

She'd asked Ginny if she could use Grimmauld, and Harry had offered Grimmauld to Mr. Malfoy and Profess—no, he now preferred to be called Master Snape. It was obvious, so obvious she didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before now. Of course Harry would have offered them his home.

However, once freed, Hermione _had_ thought—had assumed—the two had some place to go. Harry had always alluded to that fact, but he never did say where, and now she knew why.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and looked around the bedroom to see if there was anything else she missed and then caught her reflection in the mirror and cringed anew.

Gads! She looked… well, the words 'vampy', 'whorish', and 'trashy' came to mind. 'Cheap' would also be apropos. But the shorts were her oldest, most comfy pair, and the top… it didn't matter about the top. All of her had been on display for her old dour Professor's and Mr. Malfoy's amusement.

God, there was no telling what they thought of her!

Again, she blushed anew, and digging into her bag, she came up with her oldest, most frumpy witch's robes and quickly threw the mud-brown things on, buttoning herself up from stem to stern.

She scraped back her hair into a serviceable, if still moderately untidy bun, and was satisfied she looked a semblance of her normal, typically prudish self once more. And drawing a deep breath to calm her racing nerves, Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and made her way to the study, intent on removing any trace she was ever there.

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Lucius went back for his third helping of the truly scrumptious chicken breast wrapped in bacon with shallots; meanwhile, Severus was on his second. "She cam't leave ush, Semerus" Lucius mumbled around a mouthful of chicken, feeling the slightest bit of remorse for the evanesco'd sauce that he was certain would have made this dish sing. He swallowed thickly and took a large gulp of the more than palatable wine she'd left open to breathe, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "We have to make the wench stay."

Severus only shook head and inhaled another quarter-breast.

"Ammy womam that cam cook like this…" Lucius said, again around a mouthful, as he rolled his eyes in ecstasy heavenward.

"Not… worth… it," Severus replied succinctly picking at his teeth with one of the bones of the breast, his tongue searching for another tender morsel of chicken.

"She made dessert!" Lucius hissed, looking at the beautiful Rhubarb pie sitting magically protected from pests in the open kitchen window to cool.

"Trouble… we do _not_ need." Satisfied he had picked that one clean, Severus Snape moved with graceful economy onto the next.

"But Severus…" Lucius whinged.

"No," the dark wizard growled definitively.

The both of them heard the click-clacking of heels coming down the stairs, and as one, they stood, both dabbing at their mouths with their sleeves and tidying themselves up as much as possible. After all, Lucius wanted to maintain a modicum of dignity from this entirely undignified situation in which he found himself.

"Kreacher," the witch said from the hall, and then he heard the familiar pop of house-elf apparition.

Both he and Severus stepped towards the kitchen entrance to watch her as she looked down at the haggard, grimy elf that had appeared before her.

She'd changed her clothes, and not for the better in Lucius's estimation: a shapeless rag that had more in common with fertilizer sacking than actual clothing arrayed her delectable form, covering her from high neck to toe.

It was the color of mud.

Fitting in any other circumstance… and yet…

"What does mud-blooded friend of Master want from Kreacher now?" The house-elf sounded extremely put-upon, and Lucius knew for that tone of insolence alone, he would have seen this particular elf horsewhipped and dragged kicking and screaming to a bloody, stubby pulp.

However, the creature _had_ called her a mud-blood... and that was something redeeming….

"Mud-bloods always be wanting something… filth the lot of them," the little elf mumbled quietly to the floor, and at that moment, Lucius knew he was going to like this elf immensely.

"Kreacher," the girl injected with patience, kneeling down to face him, "Your master has invited two guests into this house, and he would like you to show them the best hospitality of which I know you're capable."

"Is Mud-blood friend leaving then?" the little elf asked her with a surly whinge, and that was peculiar, considering his disrespectful words to her just a moment before…

Far from being in any way angry or upset at being treated with such blatant rudeness, the witch reached up and tugged on one of the creature's ears with affection. "I am. But please treat Potions Master Snape and Mr. Lucius Malfoy like the valued guests they are, alright?"

"But why is it you leave?" the whinge turned mournful. "Kreacher thought you were to stay for months and months spent studying…"

"Plans change." She smiled kindly up at him, and Lucius gulped, the half-masticated chicken stuck in his gullet suddenly making it difficult for him to swallow. "Now, you are a good elf, a kind and loyal elf that responds best to kindness and goodness in return," she looked up pointedly at the two of them standing in the doorway, and then back at the grubby, hook-nosed thing, "and you will help see to your two guests' comfort, alright?"

"Yes, Mud-blooded friend, Kreacher shall," the house-elf said in tones of almost respect as he reached up and felt the ear she had tugged upon.

"Good elf," she beamed again at him as she rose to her feet and turned; not another word in leave-taking did she plan to impart.

"Severus…" Lucius implored.

"Miss Granger," Severus growled, striding quickly forward to catch the witch before she left.

Too late. It was too late, and she was out the door. And with a 'crack' of apparition, the lovely mud-blooded Miss Granger was gone.

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 **A/N:** A little, bitty review would be an AWESOME thing for this authoress.

Much love!

-k


	2. Pride and Prejudice

Ch. 2— Pride and Prejudice

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"I'm sorry that we couldn't be there to welcome you, but we made these plans with the Ministry months ago, and we didn't know if you both would be released then or not. But aside from that, how are you settling in, Professor? Mr. Malfoy?" Harry Potter asked them from a long-distance floo somewhere near Quebec, Canada.

Severus Snape longed to give him a caustic remark; he longed to… but didn't.

Over the years, Severus's sniping and barbed comments had gotten him nothing in return but affability. Once the history of his mother's friendship with Severus was made known to Potter, nothing Severus said could deter the younger man from thinking him an ally and a friend.

Nothing.

"Mr. Potter, I have asked for you to address me as _Mr. Snape_ ," he rasped.

The younger man smiled and nodded, "And I've repeatedly declined, sir. You are, and shall always remain my professor, professor. Now, is Kreacher helping you along? If there is anything the two of you need?"

"Our wands," Severus groused, and Potter nodded.

"Yes, I've been in touch with Kingsley on that and your money. Kingsley said he would send an owl to you both when your wands were approved to be released by the Ministry; however, he didn't hold out much hope your money and assets would be restored you anytime soon. Especially you, Mr. Malfoy." The younger wizard pinched the bridge of his nose, and just then, Severus heard a screaming ruckus come from back of Potter's quarters. Potter talked fast, "You both are welcome to whatever Kreacher can provide you for now, and we'll sort it all out later when the time comes."

"Well, in that case, Kreacher…" Lucius spoke up from Severus's side, wasting no time in summoning the haggard, old elf who appeared with a 'pop', "a bottle of well-aged wizard's scotch, a change of clothes, and a shaving kit are in short order."

"But Mr. Lucius, sir," Severus watched the elf give a graceful bow in deference to Lucius's pure-blooded status, "Scotch is not available; the house is without spirits at all."

"Afraid that's true," Severus heard Potter's wife speak up distantly from the other side of the floo, "James stop hitting your brother!" she hissed and poked her head into the flames. "Ahem, sorry. We had a bit of a sending-off when we left, and it completely ran the place dry. I forgot to order more from Glen Findich's before we left. Sorry, gentlemen."

She turned away from them and barked, "James, I will _NOT_ tell you again!"

"But the Granger-girl had a bottle," Lucius said a bit sulkily, his posture now deflated as he thought of the next few months spent completely without any kind of alcoholic provision whatsoever.

"Granger?" Potter asked, and Severus watched him shove his glasses back high onto his nose, "Was Hermione there?"

"Yes," Severus rasped, his eyebrows raised, "She was staying here… _without_ your permission I take it?"

"Hermione was at the house, Gin," Harry called over his shoulder in concern.

"OH, SHITE! I mean shart! I mean Jiminy Crickets! —no Lily, do _not_ repeat Mummy!"

Severus, Lucius and Mr. Potter were treated to a little girl's high-pitched giggling squeal as she said, "Shite!" and "Shart" repeatedly and with gleeful abandon.

For Mr. Potter's part, he looked amusedly resigned. At length, he said, "Gin… could you come over here for a moment, dear?"

"KREACHER!" The young mother bellowed at the top of her lungs, and a loud 'POP' boomed behind Severus to be heard echoing thunderingly through the Potter's fire place. "Could you… just please see to… this!" she ordered.

"Yes, mistress," Severus heard the surly elf say through the floo, and then the young mother's face, appearing more than a little harassed, again came into the fire. She looked first at the two of them, and then at her husband, her eyes uncertain.

"What happened with Hermione, Gin?" Potter said with infinite patience for his wife. Severus, meanwhile, wanted to strangle the witch, slight resemblance to Lily or no.

She pursed her lips and then confessed in a rush, "I told her she could stay at Grimmauld! Her muggle roommate up and left the flat they were renting last week. You know Hermione can't afford to keep it on her own, and she refuses your assistance. And then, your plans with those two," she gestured airily towards Severus and Lucius scattering embers everywhere causing Severus to stamp them out with his boots, "were up in the air, and I agreed, and then I got distracted by our monsters, and it just slipped my mind. I'm sorry." She looked up at them imploringly, "She has nowhere else to go, and she's got that big exam in a few months, and—"

"Mrs. Potter…" Severus cautioned, "Breathe."

"Right, Professor." Remorsefully, she did as directed and inhaled, giving a gulping sigh, once more scattering embers on the floor that, this time, Lucius put out.

"Where is she now?" Potter's witch craned her neck and looked around as if the Granger chit could be found hiding behind the furniture.

"Miss Granger left us," Lucius reported carefully, "Almost from the moment we stepped in the house."

If anything, this caused Mrs. Potter's eyes to widen more as she looked over at her husband. "Oh, Harry! She has nowhere else to go! And I bet you she's staying in that accursed—"

"Tent." Her husband finished for her, nodding with a frown, "Yeah, Gin. That's where she'd be."

Severus was very close to ending the floo call. What did it matter to him where the Granger girl chose to live and what she was doing? It was none of his concern.

"Tell me," Potter asked them at length, "did she pack in a hurry?"

"Yes," Lucius answered for them both, "yes, she did."

Potter gave a nod. "Right then, she'll be back," he said assuredly. "Hermione always leaves something behind when she packs in a hurry. Never fails. Just—" he looked at them imploringly, "don't let her leave this time, alright? She's in a bit of a… a fragile place at the moment."

"Aren't we all," Lucius mumbled from beside him.

Potter continued, Lucius's words unheard, "And with this exam she's got to take…" Again, he shoved his glasses back up his nose, "Just try and get her to stay at the house. That tent holds a lot of bad memories…" Severus saw the younger wizard cringe—he would have liked to say dramatically, but no, the reaction was visceral— "And she really needs to get through this last leg of her schooling unscathed. She's worked too hard for anything less."

"If Miss Granger does appear," Lucius said beside him, "We will convince her she is more than welcome to stay with us for however long it shall prove necessary."

The two Gryffindors before him did not catch the direct innuendo dripping from that rather loaded statement, but Severus did. And turning his head so the other two could not see, he shot Lucius a dry look.

The blond man shrugged elegantly.

"Right then, yeah. Sounds good. No, Albus! Kreacher is not to be climbed upon. Get down this instant, young man!" Potter's face disappeared from the fire along with his wife's, and Severus gave a pained look to Lucius.

"Oh, how I do _not_ miss those years!" Lucius cringed, and Severus shook his head mystified at the lot of them. How the human race survived as long as it had he had no clue.

With children such as these, and parents such as these...

"ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER! STOP THAT THIS INSTANT!" Severus heard Mrs. Potter shout, "Go home, Kreacher, before he bites you again! Get in the corner, right now, young man! And no pudding… not for the next three nights!" There was another thunderous 'POP' of house-elf apparition from Potter's end of the floo, and Severus prepared himself for the shock.

The floor shook as the grotty, little elf appeared beside them once more, this time sporting a child-sized bite mark off one ear that was bleeding profusely.

"Och, Kreacher," Mrs. Potter appeared again at the fire and looked remorsefully at the elf. "I'm so sorry!"

"That's alright, Mistress," the little elf croaked, bowing slightly from the hip and holding his ear. "It is no trouble," he said with determined resignation.

"Ginny!" They all heard a panicked Potter call from somewhere far away, and the mother pulled her head from the fire once more.

"Ah, fuck—I mean fudge! I mean NOT AGAIN!" she wailed as she again poked her head through the flames, her head turned away from them as she looked towards the sound of all the commotion, clearly torn. "Just please…" she said distractedly, "Just take care of her if you see her again." She turned to the two of them, giving them both a level look. "Hermione's worked tirelessly on your behalves, you know? You both wouldn't be free without her." A screaming wail was heard in the distance, and once more turning away from them, Potter's wife exploded, "SON OF A BI—"

"Goodbye, Mrs. Potter." Severus quickly disconnected the floo.

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The forest-glade Hermione had ended up camping in was a muggle forest near Derbyshire. She had forgotten her agenda and her book on Wizarding tariffs, laws, and taxation, and she knew it for she had looked everywhere for the damned things, and they were nowhere to be found.

She'd also had nightmares all night because of the damned tent.

The smell of moldy mildew, sweaty socks, and desperation still clung to the air, and no amount of cleansing, freshening, or cheering charms could combat it. She'd tried, valiantly, to carry on with her revision, sitting out of the tent in the early fall air near a tree and reading, but she couldn't concentrate.

Wanting to see how far this would set her behind, she looked for her agenda and realized she'd left it back at Grimmauld. _Oh, that's just brilliant, Hermione!_ she'd cursed herself.

She'd have to go back and face their ire and more pointed looks she was sure to receive. But they'd both looked half-dead and near to starved… worse, in fact, than when she'd seen them at the official 'Pardoning' ceremony a week ago.

Obviously the two had been 'living rough' the last few days, and Hermione asked herself why it had not occurred to her they would need somewhere to stay?

But then with things happening with Yvonne as they did...

In a rare show of self-compassion, she slightly forgave herself for her small laps in consideration. Harry had, after all, thoughtfully provided where she could not, and with Kreacher's ability to get them food, the two at least wouldn't go hungry or freeze to death. Which was actually more than she could say for herself at the moment.

She was going to have a difficult time taking care of herself.

The meal she'd prepared last night was supposed to have fed her for the next three days. Kreacher only fed her if others in the house were eating, it was one of the things she had noticed about him and his pure-blood indoctrinated idiosyncrasies.

He may _want_ to feed her, and may hound her to fix food for herself, but he would never fix food intended solely for her. The few times she'd asked over the years had ended in outright refusal by him, and Hermione had learned not to ask.

In addition, she didn't want to rely too much on Harry's generosity. She had been relying on him enough over the years as it was, and money for the house-elf supplied foodstuffs came directly out of his Gringott's account.

Well, it looked like she was back to hunting and foraging for her next days' worth of food yet again when she'd vowed to herself this would never be the case.

Well, never say never, right Hermione?

Never say never, indeed.

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Lucius had followed his nose from bedroom to bedroom searching for the witch's scent: his plan to make her room his own. He found it the fourth bedroom he tried and smiled slightly to himself when he saw the still-rumpled bedclothes.

The hook-nosed house-elf Kreacher appeared with a small 'pop' and a bow. "This is mud-blooded friend's room," the little elf said with a surly moue of displeasure.

Lucius hiked a brow and looked down, "Do you call her your friend, elf?"

The elf's gray ears burned with embarrassed shame, but he nodded, sticking his chest out proudly. "Mud-blooded friend of Master Potter's is also friend to Kreacher as well. And this is her room for when she stays here with the family." The little elf looked torn, wanting to evict him, and yet, wanting to adhere to his master's wishes in seeing to Lucius's comfort.

Hmm, well that was curious, was it not?

"Kreacher, you will not touch this room, or any of the contents herein." Lucius ordered. "Do you understand?"

Reluctantly, the elf nodded, and Lucius bid him direct him to the bathing chamber as well as find him an adequate change of clothes and the long-anticipated razor and strop.

He was tired, so very tired of not appearing his best, or at least the best that could be accomplished under such circumstances.

After showing him to the bath, the elf disappeared with a 'pop'.

The bathing room, like many homes built of this era, was opulent and grand but an after-thought addition. When Lucius had renovated the Manor, he'd had to install three lavatories and two bathing chambers as well for this was something for which both muggles and wizards had not concerned themselves during the time of this house's original construction. Baths were taken in a portable tub—usually copper— in the privacy of one's chamber, typically beside a roaring fire.

There was not a separate bathing suite, let alone a place to dispose of human waste—not when chamber pots had been used and evanesco'd for centuries. As such, this house only had one combination bathing chamber and lavatory. However, what it lacked in quantity, it more than made up for in quality.

Lucius sighed as he eased his weary, hunger-sated body into the warm and fragrant bathwater. This was his first bath in over ten years!

And how he had dreamed of this moment: carefully guarding his recollections and imaginings from the ravenous Dementors that wanted to eat them and steal such happy thoughts away.

Lucius' reversal of fortune astounded him to say the least.

With Minerva McGonagall's death, anyone who knew the _true_ accounting of what he had done to circumvent the Dark Lord's aims had died with her. And yet, he was free… and according to Ginevra Potter, it had been all thanks to the enchanting mud-blooded Gryffindor with the delectable sway to her carriage.

Without much thought, Lucius called up the image to the forefront of his thoughts of the woman dancing barefoot uninhibited around the kitchen, remembering in loving detail, her long and lithesome legs bared to the cropped muggle trousers she wore riding high up mid-thigh. It had been such an unguarded moment for her.

And he loved watching human beings thusly; the moment they were truly themselves when they thought no one else was looking on. And for that moment, Lucius had seen the beautiful, nearly nude creature before him shine with ease and the radiance of contentment.

That was until she had seen them, and like a startled doe, fled.

He wouldn't allow that to happen again, no matter what Severus insisted. According to the Potters, the girl was nearly as desperate as they themselves were. Well, if she were to come back, he would make it his mission to convince her there was room enough aplenty at the Potter's abode for the three of them.

His wizard's staff already erect and aching the moment he had thought of the witch, Lucius in a bid of long-practiced ease, prolonged the moment of seeing to such a basic and necessary function until he had finished bathing completely.

Moments spent unguarded and unwatched in Azkaban had been rare, very rare indeed. And it was only during his twice-monthly shower days the wizard guards permitted him a small amount of privacy for a bit of 'pull and tug' as it were. That was, if the Dementors were far enough away from him to allow those kinds of thoughts to thrive.

His first few years spent in prison, Lucius had thought of his paramour Lady Lucretia of the House of a Thousand Delights.

Narcissa and he'd had a long-standing arrangement almost from the moment they pledged their troths. Neither one asked, and neither one told. Their first year of marriage he had sired his son, and both had considered their marital obligations to one another fulfilled from the moment Draco was born.

The name of the game had been 'discretion', and he knew Narcissa had been very discreet with her peccadilloes, just as he had been with the varied mistresses he'd kept over the years. None, however, compared to the very knowledgeably-skilled hands of Lady Lucretia Mortesse.

Well-learned in the arts of seduction, of mastery, _and_ submission, the fair Lady quite turned Lucius's head once upon a time.

But that had been years ago, and over time, his memory of her had dulled almost to the point of gray due to the soul-sucking essence found fundamentally in Azkaban's very walls. Almost four years ago, he realized he could no longer picture her face. And almost two years ago, he realized he could no longer remember what it felt like to spend his passion within her satiny-moist depths.

That's when his mind started to slide he supposed, the grayness of Azkaban taking hold, taking control.

Thank the gods, Potter had been persistent, doggedly so, in visiting both he and Severus.

And so it was, Lucius had those visits from the boy wizard to look forward to each and every week almost without fail for nine years.

And during these visits, both he and Severus got to talk to one another, and their friendship—always of a strong bond—was, during that period of hell, forged to a deep kindred that Lucius was certain would transcend beyond death itself.

His bathwater gone cold, the blond wizard pulled the stopper and rose from the depths of the luxurious tub, grabbing for the warming-charmed infused borrowed house robe the elf had thoughtfully laid out for him. Looking at his seedy and emaciated visage in the mirror, Lucius resolved to do something about the scruff forthwith, and began beating lather into a bowl with a thick horsehair brush. He then hung the strop on the peg by the side of the sink and begun to unhurriedly sharpen the blade.

He wondered idly if the mud-blooded Miss Granger had ever given a man a traditional shave before as he began to work the lather into his stubbled skin. It was practically the only way to go about things properly. Spells and the like did not work as effectively; a nuance that was missed on many of his contemporaries looking for the fastest, most expedient way possible.

Sometimes _muggle_ truly was the way to go.

And Lucius smirked as he thought of where he would like to go with one particular muggle-born witch.

Once more, his ardor began to reassert itself as he leisurely shaved, dreaming of her delectable arse swinging for him in the air. Again, he was in no hurry for completion. If there was one thing Azkaban had taught him it was patience.

Finally, he was clean-shaven once more, but his hair was another matter entirely. It was ragged and tattered, so much of it brittle and weak due to lack of proper nutrition. He razed it off to his shoulders, making certain the ends were cut fine and even, and then studied himself in the mirror, standing straight and tall.

There was still a hungry, rangy look about his visage that disturbed him somewhat, but he was hopeful a few more of the Granger-chit's meals would help alleviate that if she did, indeed, return.

No, what disturbed him most was the change in his light-colored eyes.

They were haunted, vacuous, not familiar to what he remembered of himself at all. And Lucius spent minutes upon minutes staring at his reflection and trying to reconcile the change.

Perhaps it was not permanent?

Dear Merlin, he hoped not!

Closing his eyes, he grit his jaw and threw up an occlumency shield, and then assessed himself. His eyes still looked slightly unhinged, but the effect was lessened, and he nodded to himself. It was as good as he could do for the nonce.

Padding out of the bathroom, he went back to his room, the night growing late and still. He wasn't sure where Severus had taken himself, but Lucius was certain if there was one thing his dark brother wasn't doing, it was sleeping. The two of them were completely attuned, and how well he knew just how very rarely the dour potions master did sleep.

But Lucius vowed that wouldn't be the case for _him_ tonight. Not at all; for well-fed and clean-shaven, warm and freshly come from his bath, Lucius Malfoy was primed for a good night's rest.

Upon entering the witch's bedroom once more, Lucius shed his robe to the floor and walked naked over to Miss Hermione Granger's bed, slithering between her sheets, his nose immediately assailed with her citrus-musk scent. He turned his head into her pillow and shivered with the tactile sensation her scent evoked within him.

Having more of a developed sense than most when it came to odors and smells, Lucius remembered hearing that muggle scientists had found a correlation between the evocation of memory and emotion related most strongly to the sense of smell.

And for Lucius, this held especially true.

His best and most vivid memories, un-faded by time or Dementor-enforced incarceration, were linked to his sense of smell: his mother and father, his son, his fine library with his leather-bound collection of rare and wondrous books.

And the greatest smell of all was the smell of a woman's arousal, and the taste of her musk on his tongue, christening and cleansing his soft palate.

Ah, but it was bliss smelling the scent of a woman— and _this_ woman in particular.

For he knew exactly what Miss Hermione Granger looked like down to the heart-shaped curve of her delectable arse. Now, Lucius permitted himself to leisurely stroke his length as he thought of that luscious arse impelled on his wizard's staff, her small, pert breasts bouncing in time with the rhythm he set as she rode them both to completion.

And that small, tight mouth with her beautiful rose-bud lips.

He had plans for that mouth as well.

And it was that imagined image he chose to focus on in order to bring himself to the close: the mud-blood's rose-bud perfect lips, stretched taut to encompass the breadth of his cock, and she would look up at him kindly, adoringly, just as she had that elf, and kneeling before him as she was, she would _want_ to take more of him, would _want_ to swallow him completely, and beg for all that he deigned to give.

Imagining that it was her hair instead of her sheet he was fisting, he breathed another shuddering inhale of her sweet scent and spilled himself upon her sheets.

Another moment later, Lucius Malfoy was sound asleep.

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Breathing deeply of the cool night air, Severus Snape sat in the courtyard at Grimmauld and wondered what he was going to do now he was free.

He was a man who paid his debts.

And according to Mrs. Potter, he owed a very large debt to one Hermione Granger.

How could he not have known he owed his freedom to her?

Surely he didn't owe her a life-debt as he had with James Potter? He'd just finished paying off the one, he did not need to incur another!

But no, he felt no tug, no pull towards the girl, no compulsion to see to her continued existence upon this Earth, and that was comforting. He had made a vow to protect Lily's son from the dark forces surrounding him. He had fulfilled that vow and paid back his debt to Potter and then some.

As far as Severus was concerned, once the Ministry decided what it would do for him in reparations, and cut him the check, he was gone, his debts paid and his soul his own once more.

And yet, he would not be alone for the journey.

He knew somehow without knowing that Lucius would be with him as well, the two of them traveling together.

Lucius, after all, was now his brother—one could not go through the things each of them had gone through, experience what they had both done separately and together, without being profoundly altered in some way.

And Severus realized a year ago, when it looked that perhaps they might have a shot at being exonerated, he didn't _want_ to be alone for the journey after all. He'd had his fill of solitude while imprisoned, and the silence, the terrifying quietness of it all had disturbed him most profoundly.

He tolerated and mostly welcomed Lucius's every inane utterance, and he didn't think that was going to change any time soon.

His credentials of Potions Mastery had been stripped from him upon his conviction, but he was vaguely hopeful this too would be overturned any day now. From there, he planned to go straight into the private sector, perhaps even in business for himself doing pure research, and never, Severus vowed, would he _ever_ again teach another day in his life.

But… first things first, he had his debts to pay.

And if it was as Mrs. Potter had said, and he owed Miss Granger for his freedom, then somehow, he needed to see this debt made right.

The witch needed somewhere to live; Potter's place was plenty large enough for the three of them without there being too much interaction between himself and the bothersome girl.

Three months. Gods willing, they would be paid by the Ministry and out of this wretched place before her three months were up.

But… _if_ they weren't, then three months of avoidance was endurable.

After all, he was a man that had just spent ten years of his life in the stillness of waiting. And another ten before that.

What was another three months compared to that?

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Hermione debated the merits of surprising them… two known Death Eaters just released from prison.

Yes, and she did have a death wish, did she not?

They were without wands, that was true, but Severus Snape didn't _need_ a wand, as he more than amply proved yesterday when he and Mr. Malfoy had surprised her in the kitchen.

Perhaps this afternoon?

She would go this afternoon to collect her book and agenda, and maybe the two of them would be out, and she wouldn't have to interact with them, and that would be that.

Feeling less than optimistic on that score, she used yet another warming charm on the blanket around her, and valiantly tried to study—this time ' _Equality and the Expansion Myth': How Classist Subversion in Wizarding Culture Promotes Higher Free-Market Trade_.

The overwhelming ignorance in this book and others like it was what she was basing her dissertation on. And provided she passed the Bar, she would have to go before the entirety of the Wizengamot to present her dissertation and defend her stance in order to be become part of the Council of Advisors.

But if she got her credentials— _when_ she got her credentials, after she successfully took both the Bar and appeared before the Wizengamot, she would be accepted as a full-fledged member of the Wizengamot's consultative board with all the rights and privileges therein.

She would be taken seriously; her point of view having merit, and she could bring issues before their Augustine council without having to go through the Ministry's bureaucratic red tape to do so.

But first, she needed her agenda and her book on wizarding taxation, and she needed them today.

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By the next afternoon, Lucius had been over the witch's room with a fine-toothed comb, going through all of Miss Granger's left-behind personal effects, and not seeing anything particularly of value the girl would want back. The room had been picked clean with only the barest of essentials remaining: a change of clothes, a bottle of perfume, a muggle toothbrush and a hair comb. A framed wizard's photograph of the 'Golden Trio' graced the armoire.

The picture had been taken a few years before the defeat of the Dark Lord, and Lucius studied it eagerly, looking for any hint of the poised and ravishing beauty he could find in the structure of the adolescent girl.

There was none.

No, it seemed Miss Hermione Granger had rocketed from awkward, gangly adolescence to the level of Earth goddess over a scant expanse of years, much as an ugly duckling turned into a graceful swan.

When was the last time he had seen her, _truly_ seen her?

His trial? When she had testified against him?

No. It was after that.

The witch had come to see him in Azkaban… only once though. She had been thorough, so very thorough in her research, in plotting just who the other spy had been against Voldemort. As Lucius recalled, she'd looked much as she had in her picture with her friends, perhaps a little leaner from shedding the baby fat of youth. And it had been obvious she had taken great pains with her appearance, but she had looked so… young and innocent standing outside his accursed cell. So fresh-faced, earnest, and naïve, her presence, her conversation had made him want to throw something at her, to ruin that naivety, that innocence he still saw even after what she'd been through with the war.

He recalled he hadn't been very nice to her, even as she was trying to help clear his name.

No, he had not been nice at all—calling her a 'mud-blooded bitch', and that had been his mildest epithet.

From then on, it was Harry Potter who had come to ask about his past and find out more about his work in espionage. It had been Potter who had doggedly cleared his name.

But according to Ginevra, that had not been the case at all. In fact, Lucius realized he owed his freedom to the mud-blooded vixen he saw yestereve.

He prayed he could find the leverage that would ensure her return.

Making it back to the bed, he carefully rearranged the bedclothes, spritzing her pillow with her perfume atomizer in order to refresh the girl's citrus-scent. He also spritzed his handkerchief, and folding it in a square, inserted it in the pocket at his lapel so he could carry a scent-ual reminder of her throughout the day.

Giving up her room as a lost cause, he thought to where else the little mud-blooded minx would have gone in the house. There was the bathing chamber, but Lucius had already been there and noticed nothing inherent that struck him as hers.

What was it the elf and Potter had said... the girl needed to study? Well, there was only one place in the house left to check—the actual study itself.

Severus was already there when Lucius arrived perusing a volume on Wizarding taxation and tariffs of all things. The dark wizard didn't even bother looking up to acknowledge his presence, but Lucius wasn't vexed.

He was on a mission after all.

Fiction, non-fiction, muggle, wizarding. The Potter's library was mild in terms of taste versus his own rather eclectic collection and was far from well-appointed. He saw there was another shelf of books, this one placed under tightly warded lock and key, and scanning the contents, he soon realized why.

These books were dark, very dark indeed, and had no place within a growing family's home. There were some even _he_ wouldn't dare open, the magic within them so powerfully dark, just reading the words within could corrupt and alter one's soul permanently.

Now, that was curious…

Why would the Potter's keep such a collec—

Of course! This house had been the ancestral manse of Sirius Black.

Ah, how could Lucius have forgotten? Mr. and Mrs. Black, Narcissa's uncle and aunt, the both of them of good breeding and Pure-blooded stock. And their son Regulus had been Lucius's contemporary at school. Regulus, who had shown him the locket he had taken from the Dark Lord's hiding place scant days before the Dark Lord killed him and set the events into motion for the entire raison d'être for Lucius to spy.

Dear Regulus, poor boy.

Again, Lucius began looking around for anything out of place, anything that, perhaps, didn't look as if it belonged…

There was a very nice leather-bound journal set aside upon the desk, and it was this that drew his attention from the other dross and clutterings of paper stationed throughout.

He undid the leather buckle and opened the flap to see the inside subscription in calligraphic text:

 _ **Property of H. Granger.**_

 _ **If found, please return by owl post**_

 _ **c/o Harry Potter**_

 _ **Number 12 Grimmauld Place**_

 _ **London, UK.**_

A frisson of triumph stole over him at that moment, and it was with much anticipation Lucius sat in the chair behind the desk, and began to peruse the volume, and upon completion gave a wide Cheshire grin.

It was the witch's study time-table: a necessity to have as she had every single day planned out up until her examination to be taking place the last day of spring.

 _Oh, little poppet_ , he chuckled darkly, his eyes fanning at the corners, and Severus looked up with an inquiring upturn of his brow.

Lucius placed a now well-manicured finger on top of the book "This journal, Severus. I just found Miss Granger's schedule of revision planned down to the day, and in some cases, the _hour_."

Severus raised both eyebrows at this, and immediately closed the book he was reading, holding out his hand for the journal Lucius still had his finger upon.

Lucius shook his head and grinned slightly, scooping it up and standing. "No. This little discovery is mine to do with as I wish. Finders, keepers after all."

Scowling, Severus shook his head and turned back to his book, and Lucius left the room.

Now, only where to hide it…

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At a quarter 'til three in the afternoon, Hermione knocked on the door to Grimmauld, unsurprised when it took Kreacher five full minutes to answer. She had again worn very voluminous and billowy witch's robes that covered her from neck to toe, leaving everything to the imagination. Her hair was scraped back into its strictest bun adhered to the back of her head.

And in looking at her own reflection, a mature, serious-faced young woman stared back at her.

"What is it you want, mud-blood friend of Master?" the little elf croaked, looking up at her with a gimlet eye.

"Kreacher, I'm just here to grab some things I left behind yesterday." She smiled wanly as she made her way by the little elf into the hallway and immediately up the stairs.

The house-elf followed her with a wheedling wheeze, "Master's mud-blood friend could make tea since she has bothered to come back."

Hermione hedged, biting her lip, "Tea would be lovely, Kreacher, but I'm afraid I don't have time." Where to go first? The study or her bedroom?

The study first; that was where she remembered seeing her journal last.

The little elf stepped in front of her. "Mud-blood miss should make time for tea" Kreacher said belligerently. "Mud-blood had been skipping meals again, and it shows."

"Kreacher…" Hermione said exasperated, looking down with fondness at the little elf, "Please don't start. Just go back to the kitchen alright? I'll be down to tell you goodbye in a minute."

Steeling herself for what she would find, Hermione opened the door to the study and was relieved to find it empty. Her book on wizarding tariffs was, strangely enough, in the chair. That wasn't where she remembered leaving it. Grabbing it, she looked upon the desk for her journal, drawing up short when it wasn't there.

"What's this, Severus?" Hermione looked up to the doorway to find both Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy standing there. "Ah, I see we have a guest arrived. I'll have to speak to the elf to make certain he announces all callers in the future."

Professor Snape, still wearing his bedraggled teaching robes torn at the neck, gave her a truculent glare, and she swallowed almost taking a step back. Meanwhile Mr. Malfoy smiled benignly, almost kindly at her and this was, in its own right, terrifying.

The man himself had undergone a change in the day and a half she had been away.

With hair shorn to his shoulders and face clean-shaven once more, Mr. Malfoy looked a measure of the coldly-handsome wizard he had once been. Add to that, the clothes Kreacher had unearthed for him—though decades out of fashion, the wizarding garments, made of the finest material, fit him like a second skin, and were reminiscent of the clothes he used to wear when she had met him as a child so long ago.

Gulping, she _did_ take a step back and reinforced the Occlumency shields she had in place.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Granger?" Mr. Malfoy graciously asked her taking a step into the room.

"I came back to grab some of the things I left behind: this book, and my journal… I don't suppose either of you recall seeing it?" She again looked upon the surface of the desk, trying to remember if perhaps she had brought it with her back to her bedroom.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Malfoy snapped his fingers and instantly her attention was his, "I do recall seeing something of that nature in my trip to browse the study. Why? Is it particularly… _valuable_ , perhaps?"

"Only to me," she acknowledged, her eyes narrowing to slits. There was a self-satisfied air about the man, and Hermione should know, she had seen it in his son often enough. Lucius Malfoy was playing with her, toying with her as a cat did a mouse before gobbling it up.

He stepped towards her—sauntering was more akin to how he moved— until he stood a foot away.

He looked down at her, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Au contraire, Miss Granger. I find it exceedingly valuable as well." He gave her an indulgent smile, and she paled.

" _You_ have my journal… but _why_?" she asked mystified. Why would he want the damn thing unless he only wanted to make her life a little more hellacious than it already was at the moment?

Which was a Slytherin tactic, and one practiced with alarming alacrity by both master Slytherins now standing before her.

"All to be revealed in the goodness of time… Kreacher," Mr. Malfoy summoned. And the little elf appeared with a 'pop' and a subservient bow towards Malfoy Senior. "Bring tea for three here in the study."

After shooting Hermione a knowing grin, Kreacher 'popped' away to do Mr. Malfoy's bidding.

While she and Mr. Malfoy had been talking, Professor Snape had also come into the room and made his way towards the desk, taking the seat behind it. And in the privacy of her thoughts, Hermione rolled her eyes. No. She was _not_ going to be made to feel like a first-year again because of the terror-intimidation tactics of that man… of _both_ these men.

"Look," she licked her lips nervously, "all I need is my journal, and then I'm gone."

"Such Gryffindor brashness, Severus," Mr. Malfoy tutted, gesturing she should have a seat in one of the wingback chairs set in front of the desk.

She gave a terse shake of her head declining.

Mr. Malfoy took a seat in the other wingback chair, and Hermione's jaw clenched as she stood before the two men definitely feeling like a first-year called to carpet.

Mr. Malfoy looked at her genially; Professor Snape, meanwhile, glared silent and accusing at her.

"We have spoken to Potter and his wife," Mr. Malfoy began, "And it seems they double-booked this little abode for the season. Alas, miscommunication is most often the misstep most marriages make. Not that you or Severus would know of such things, but I digress."

He gave her a small smile, "In short, you are in need of a place to stay, and we have the means to provide it." Mr. Malfoy gestured between himself and Professor Snape, and Hermione looked over to gauge her old professor's reaction.

His face was a stony mask of indifference bordering on disdain.

Uh-huh. Like hell she would even _consider_ coming back here to stay!

"Come, come now, Severus," Mr. Malfoy chastised as the elf reappeared, "Let us at least try to be civil for tea. Ah, perfect. Thank you, Kreacher." The little elf appeared and began merrily doling out plates of sandwiches as Mr. Malfoy began pouring the tea.

Hermione refused the last plate the little elf held to her with a shake of her head, and Kreacher narrowed his eyes at her, silently insistent.

"How is it you take your tea, Miss Granger?" Mr. Malfoy asked her solicitously.

"Declined, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said shortly, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Mud-blood Miss takes her tea with a sugar and a splash of cream," the elf reported with smug satisfaction to Malfoy Senior.

The blond wizard looked up at her and smiled beguilingly. "See? Was that so very difficult?" He held out the tea for her to take as well, and Hermione's lips twitched slightly at the absurdity of it all.

With bad grace, she took the pro-offered tea and plate, and sat facing Severus Snape.

Kreacher, meanwhile, hovered near her, prompting her to eat. She took a bite of her sandwich to appease the elf, and with another self-satisfied nod, he was gone. Looking over, she saw Lucius Malfoy studying her with fascination, a finger to his lips. "How incredibly polite you are, Miss Granger, even to house-elves."

" _Especially_ to the house-elves, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said tersely, stirring her tea and taking a sip. She cleared her throat. "Now, you stated you talked to Harry and Ginny…" Hermione led, hoping one of the two would continue.

"How much…" Professor Snape rasped at her, "did you have to do… with our exonerations?"

Even hearing his testimony and viewing Harry's recollections of their time together in Azkaban in a Pensieve, it still was jarring to hear his voice—his once lovely and softly silken voice, it now sounded gravelly and weak, his vocal chords barely able to produce a sound above a harsh whisper.

She licked her lips and sat down her plate and tea on the desk. "That depends. Where's my journal?"

"I don't know," Professor Snape snarled, suddenly standing, placing his hands wide on the desk and leaning towards her. "TELL ME!" he rasped, his voice breaking.

"E-everything," she confessed softly.

"Explain," he grit, narrowing his dark eyes at her.

She gulped and looked away, really hoping he wasn't able to read her mind. "Harry went to visit you both to find out information to stage your defense. I—" she licked her lips, "I've been putting the pieces of your work to undermine the Dark Lord together for years; I'm only sorry it took me so long to do so."

She looked over and up at the two of them sadly. "Harry was my envoy, but I—I was the one to plan and gather evidence for your appeals. You were never supposed to know," she ended quietly, looking down at the floor.

"What do you want?" Professor Snape rasped tightly, and she looked up, meeting his cold and flinty eyes as he still stood, arms splayed wide, looming over the desk towards her.

Shaking her head, she stuttered, "N-nothing. Well, I _would_ like my journal, but that's it." She looked over at Mr. Malfoy to find him regarding her with a serious air as well.

"We owe you, Granger," Professor Snape ground, "now tell us what it is you want."

She stood abruptly and began backing away towards the door. "I want nothing, Professor Snape," she said in a trembling voice. Mr. Malfoy stood as well, and the two began stalking her. "I just want to be left alone, same as you."

"Miss Granger," Mr. Malfoy appealed, coming to stand beside her. "What Severus is so ham-handedly trying to tell you is we owe you a great debt of gratitude for your tireless work on our behalves. We _are_ in your debt, my dear, and although I am certain you've learned this by now, Severus Snape is a man who pays his debts." She watched the blond wizard's jaw clench as he smiled tightly, "As am I."

She made it as far as the door to the study before Professor Snape was upon her, his scowl firmly in place. She shook her head entreating them to listen, "You both owe me nothing; the wizarding world owed you. I call it even, and any debt you think you owe, I release you from in full, right here and now."

Mr. Malfoy smiled down at her softly, "Oh, kitten. Dear, sweet kitten. You do not even see the riches displayed before you, do you my girl?" He reached to caress her cheek, and Hermione broke away from them both, walking swiftly down the hall towards the stairs.

Her journal could hang.

She would have to do her revision without it.

It would be difficult, but she could manage.

She was to the front door an instant later and reaching for the knob, she turned it. It wouldn't budge. She tried again; it was stuck as if by… magic.

Looking behind her, she saw both Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape had followed, Professor Snape softly chanting under his breath as he held up his hand, casting some kind of wandless spell preventing her from opening the door.

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He had scared her.

He hadn't meant to, but he had.

Lucius couldn't remember the last time he saw such goodness, such innocent sweetness radiating from a woman. Never a woman of _his_ acquaintance that was for certain. There was Ginevra Potter, but even she had more in common with that shrill harpy of her mother than with one of the Graces.

And that's what the woman now looking so frightened and unsure standing before him reminded him of—a Grace.

"You need a place to stay, Granger," Severus growled, the both of them once more coming to stand beside her as she stood by the closed front door, all but pinning her to it. "You _will_ stay here with us." His tone brooked no refusal.

Ah, but she _was_ a stubborn one; that pointed chin bespoke of defiance and pride, raised itself, and Lucius smirked. Slytherins were not the only house to fall victim to their pride.

She shook her head. "I have a place to go; I'm fine."

"A tent does not count," Severus choked out, sneering. "You _will_ stay here." He chuffed, and Lucius saw his breath fan the tiny wisps of escaped curl across the witch's cheek. "Do you understand?"

She gulped, her throat working as she swallowed this bitter medicine. Yes, piqued pride does sting, does it not, my dear? Lucius could truly sympathize with her at that moment. Looking down at the floor, she nodded.

"Your word, Granger," Severus demanded.

"You have my word," she whispered softly, looking up and meeting Severus's eyes. The dark wizard nodded once, apparently satisfied with what he saw, and relinquishing his hold on the door, Severus turned in a billow of robes and stalked back up the stairs.

Thus, leaving Lucius alone with her.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, and then turned to face him. "Where's my journal?" she asked baldly, stepping away from the door and crossing her arms defensively in front of her.

Lucius grinned and mirrored her stance, leaning casually upon the door. "Where did you learn to cook like that?" he asked her in turn.

"At the muggle restaurant I worked while attending university."

Lucius smiled, "Put yourself through university, have you Miss Granger, serving _muggles_ their dinner?"

That defiant chin went up. "Yes. Yes, I did."

Oh, it was going to be fun goading her!

She continued, "The pay was good, and the free food and cooking lessons even better."

He shoved himself away from the door, coming to stand in front of her again. "And if I told you I wanted you to cook for me?"

Her eyebrows rose. "I would tell you, Mr. Malfoy, respectfully sir, to go fuck yourself." And she smiled sweetly up at him.

He clucked his tongue. "Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, such language is unbecoming in one such as you."

"This conversation is unbecoming!" she growled, "my journal, where is it?"

Lucius smiled sanguinely and shook his head. "It seems we are at an impasse, for with those hastily spoken words upstairs, you have quite released me from any and all indebted obligation I previously had to you, my dear."

"I am not _your_ anything, Malfoy," she hissed, taking a step towards him and getting in his face.

He took another step towards her until mere inches separated them. "Oh, but you _are_ quickly becoming dear to me, Miss Granger. Very dear, indeed." He saw her eyes widen slightly as she realized their proximity, and she quickly took a step back. He pursued, "So, I will ask you, how do you feel about an exchange, _my dear_?"

"What?" Her tone was lethal, and she was staring daggers at him. Though her occlumency shields were on full, he could tell from the look on her face just what kind of an _exchange_ she thought he was proposing.

Smiling softly, he took a step away from her. "My, but your thoughts are sordid, are they not? I don't even need Legilimency to see that."

He was gratified to see her blush. Emaciated and looking as he did, he still had the power to make a beautiful witch blush. That boosted his ego a bit. "In any event, although I am certain you and I are destined to end up in bed together—"

She scoffed and threw up her hands, turning away from him and heading toward the kitchen.

"In any event," Lucius continued, "that was not what I happened to be proposing." He watched in fascination as she began the makings for tea. "You know, we could just call the elf for that, Kreach—"

"Don't you dare!" She leveled her wand at him, right between the eyes. "He will be working hard enough for the two of you as it is; I do not need him bending over backwards for me as well, not that he would. And I don't care about your proposal, Malfoy. You can take it and go—"

"Yes, I quite heard you the first time," Lucius interrupted amiably, "No need to remind me of your low-born upbringing again."

Once more her wand was pointed straight between his eyes.

"Get out," she grit, and red sparks erupted from the tip of her wand, one of them stinging his cheek. Oh, but she was a feisty thing when her back was up. There were the fires of passion burning brightly in her honey-brown eyes, and her color was high setting the tiny smattering of freckles dusting the bridge of her nose to standing out.

He smiled charmingly, and holding up his hands in capitulation, backed away. "When you want to discuss a trade, kitten, come and find me, hmm?" Lucius turned casually and walked away.

"Hell will freeze over first," he heard her mumble as he departed.

Ah, but those words were music to his ears.

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A/N: That Ginny Weasley has quite the potty mouth! And too, our brave, little Gryffindor lioness is in a passel of trouble with her two new roommates. Now, what did you think of Severus' high-handed tactics? Lucius' schemery? This inquiring authoress is dying to know!

Psst! *nudge *nudge— Reviews are the only payment I get for sweating over the placement of a comma. ;)

-k


	3. No Strings Attached

Ch. 3— No Strings Attached

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Having all but forced the witch to stay, Severus had expected a lot more noise, a lot more drama, a lot more of… _her_ around the house.

What he got instead was silence, utter and profound, a moping, despondent Lucius, and only the odd occasional sighting of witch's robes as she was passing by whatever room he happened to be in, typically from the lavatory and back up the stairs.

And before he knew it, a month had passed in this way. The elf, having unearthed some more clothing for him, charmed them at Severus's insistence to be black and somewhat identical to his old robes. He had disposed of the torn white linen shirt as soon as he could once the elf had found him a suitable replacement.

From what he distantly remembered of Miss Granger back during his days spent teaching, she had been a know-it-all intent on impressing them all with her 'knowledge' of various subjects both mundane and arcane.

Severus had been unimpressed.

The verbosity of her papers alluded to a mind which lacked creativity and original thought. The hand she constantly flailed in the air an indication of an uncertain, needy child searching desperately for approval. In essence, the girl was a one-trick wonder, able to absorb information but unable to move past it to the unique perspective of original thought to synthesize what she learned.

He had quickly written the student she had been off as a waste of brain power.

But perhaps… perhaps he shouldn't have been so rash.

The adult the student had become was accommodating of their space almost to the point of non-existence.

Both he and Lucius had spent hours, both separately and together, straining their ears for a sound of her—a hint of her presence through the house. Hermione Granger was like their own, personal haunt, and that was disconcerting in and of itself for Severus had enough ghosts surrounding him. He didn't need another.

He spent his days in silent suspense, trying to read one of the books from the Potter's and Black's abysmally pedestrian collection, but all the while being unable to concentrate, unable to think of anything but her.

However, she would cook late at night while everyone else slept. And she was right in assuming everyone in the house was asleep—everyone but him.

And through the window in the courtyard, Severus watched her as she cooked, swayed, and sang along to her music; the sound itself prevented from being overheard by his own 'Muffliato' spell used against him. Wards were now also thrown up for good measure to prevent anyone, elf or wizard, from coming into the kitchen and disturbing her.

He told himself he didn't care if she saw him sitting out there watching her or not, that if she did, then it would only serve her right for forgetting to protect the window from prying eyes as well. And yet, Severus took care to hide his black-clad silhouette in the shadows each and every time he saw her thusly, so she _couldn't_ see him, couldn't possibly make out through the warm fire-glow of the kitchen, the former 'Black Bat of the Dungeons' studying her.

It was becoming an obsession of his—and he knew for Lucius as well—this _Granger-watching_.

Far from wearing the revealing and enticing clothing she had been sporting when first they saw her, the witch now kept to traditional, and dowdy, witch's robes that covered her form completely. Severus told himself he didn't wish for her to change back into the tight, little muggle outfit that left so little to the imagination she had worn before.

He told himself this, but he knew it for the lie it was.

Beneath the drab robes and severely scraped-back hair, Hermione Granger had grown into an exquisite beauty: a kind-hearted, singularly stunning woman that no amount of colorless, shapeless rags could hide.

And she was from the rare and wonderful breed of female that was only going to grow more beautiful as time progressed.

Severus loathed and resented her with every fiber of his being.

Damn her sloe-eyed charms.

To Severus's ever-increasing frustration, she wouldn't cook every night. It was every third or fourth, typically after she'd gone to the muggle grocers, and she would place her leftovers in transfigured plastic containers held in stasis to be eaten later.

He watched as she ate at the kitchen table, a book on some aspect of magical law her sole companion; that and a precisely measured glass of wine. She allowed herself one glass that was all, and she magically re-corked the bottle to be taken upstairs with the leftovers.

And yet, throughout it all, until the re-packaging and clean-up, she used no magic, no cooking charms whatsoever.

He found that curious indeed.

And after she had tidied up her mess, after all the lights had been extinguished, Severus would go into the kitchen and sniff the air, smelling the wonderful concoction the kitchen-witch had made: a beggar at her feast. His mouth watering in remembrance of what she'd concocted.

A month had passed thusly, and Severus didn't see any hint of pattern changing any time soon.

Lucius, he knew, was having a difficult time as well.

His brother wanted the witch, wanted to bed her. And Lucius Malfoy was used to getting what he wanted _when_ he wanted it, especially from the fairer sex.

Granger, however, ignored Lucius's presence completely.

Lucius would try to strike up a conversation in passing, and she would put in little muggle-made contraptions in her ears and pressing a button on her muggle cellular device, drown him out. She did this in defense, Severus knew, but her elusiveness was driving them both to distraction.

How dangerous it was for a little rabbit to be kept in such close proximity to the wolves. And it had been so long for them both!

Naturally, she had no idea, at least, no idea where _he_ was concerned.

Severus kept to himself and studiously ignored her, all but demanding she do the same, which she did. And yet, he listened for the sound of her light foot-falls upon the stair, and at night when he observed her cooking, he was growing accustomed to the way she would dip her finger into a bowl or pot to taste it, contaminating its contents entirely.

He was even finding it somewhat endearing when she would cut her vegetables, and they were not all uniform in length or breadth, precisely circumscribed as he, himself, would have done. After all, he had taught the witch to do so if she wanted things to turn out even and most effectual whether in cooking or in a potion. However, seeing her thusly, at play in her natural element as it were, it would be a crime to critique such a thing for the woman was so obviously contented and happy in her small bit of joy.

Her spirit—her light, the essence of her being— was dancing before him, and after so long spent deprived of such sights and wonders—had he ever seen such in another human being besides Lily?— Severus was quickly becoming enchanted with the witch bordering strongly on infatuation.

His favorite part of watching her was when she would get lost in a song she was listening to, and closing her eyes, rock her hips slowly back and forth to its beat. Even the concealing robes she wore couldn't mask the enticing, hypnotic sway of her form, or the fact she had a natural, in-born rhythm few in his estimation possessed.

Yes, to say he was attracted to the witch was an understatement.

He needed to find a suitable woman to bed, perhaps even a whore, and soon.

And yet, even as he told himself this, he knew it for the fiction it was. There was only one woman living who was going to entice him… and that was Miss Hermione Granger.

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Lucius waited until the witch left her room for the kitchen and then made his way to her bedroom, exchanging her sheets and pillow for his own.

It was a desperate thing he did, he knew, but he wanted the smell of her surrounding him while he slept—that was the only way he _could_ sleep now. And too, he got a visceral thrill thinking of her wrapped warm and snug in _his_ bedclothes, sleeping in peaceful slumber encapsulated by his scent as well.

Perhaps she recognized it?

What he was reduced to doing was a primal claiming, but he had to do it as the witch refused any other overture—strictly platonic or otherwise from him.

However, never would he force her.

Never had he ever _had_ to force a woman, and he wasn't going to start now.

But he _was_ going to press every advantage he had, and for Lucius Malfoy, sensual stimulation was an artform. The right touch applied appropriately could have a woman begging to be claimed. The right look at the right time could send her into sexual heat and make her ready and wanting. The right words whispered in just the right way could have her automatically parting her thighs and awaiting his mastery over her. And yes, the right smell and subsequent taste of him could have her begging for more.

Lucius wanted to see the muggle-born minx on her knees begging for him.

He wanted to see her in a great many positions.

But the way things were looking, it was _he_ who would be lying prostrate before her, begging for a chance to woo 'The Ice Princess of Gryffindor'.

That's what the newspapers and tabloid rags had begun calling her years ago. He had done his research as Potter, or more likely Ginevra had left a mound of old newspapers as well as ratty tabloids needing to be gone through and clipped for scrap in one of the upper rooms.

And through these, Lucius had caught up on wizarding events in the last ten years paying specific attention to the events concerning one Hermione Jean Granger.

It had started as a story in _Witch Weekly_ innocently enough.

The young girl she had been a few months after the second Wizarding War had discontinued things with Ronald Weasley, and reporter Rita Skeeter apparently had a vendetta against the poor girl, making slanderous accusations and libelous claims about the reason for the two's dissolution owing solely to Miss Granger's frigid temperament. Personally, Lucius thought, it was because the witch had more sense than the gods gave a Pygmy-puff, but at any rate, the moniker stuck, and 'Ice Princess of Gryffindor' she became.

Portrayed by both _Witch Weekly_ and the _Daily Prophet_ as such, she was lauded as both a heroine and a whore depending on the day and whether or not news was slow. A parade of pictures soon followed through the years with her and various wizards, both known and unknown to Lucius.

But there had been only one—one and only one—that struck him as being her lover.

He had been an older man, a little older than the age Lucius was now himself, and he had been her instructor while at university. Handsome in a congenial sort of way, he was a wizard of varied academic accomplishment, and he'd had a wife and three children at the time the picture was taken.

The picture was not only of the two of them, but of a group of students—Miss Granger among them—who were watching the wizard as he taught.

The photograph replayed over and over again the varied reactions of the students to the charismatic and friendly instructing style of the professor. And Lucius honed in on the slight, contented smile the witch had as she watched her professor teach. The article itself, however, alluded to no misconduct, and from what Lucius could find, there had been no allegations or claims otherwise concerning the two and an affair—which apparently had been kept very discreet.

But Lucius knew.

He knew with every fiber of his being that the young witch she'd been had been bedded by that scapegrace of a man, and what's more, she'd thought herself in love with him. At least, at the time the picture was taken she had.

A particular gift of his that he shared with no one was an empathic visualization of others' emotions. He could, if he so chose, literally see the ties of emotion linking one human being to another—especially those of love and hate. That's what clued Lucius into the Dark Lord's secret—the fact no ties bound him, nothing but anger radiated from him.

His hidden talent also helped him ascertain Severus's true loyalties so long ago. Before she died, Severus had a pure white tie radiating straight from him to the muggle-born Lily Potter nee Evans.

Lucius had seen the string of white up until her death, and then a tangle of crimson, almost to the point of black, had replaced it, the red tie that had never lessened as the years wore on, had radiated like a muggle precision flashlight straight from Severus towards the Dark Lord.

The girl in the picture before him was radiating a string of pure white light straight towards her professor.

The string was not returned.

Fast-forward a few years later, a different, more jaded, aspect now appeared in Miss Hermione Granger's eyes, and her reputation as 'Ice Princess of Gryffindor' was elevated to 'Untouchable Ice Queen'.

A string of lovers of various ages, socio-economic classes, blood-statuses, and accomplishments had followed the professor, but though Lucius was certain she'd slept with them all, he could tell she hadn't let one of them get close to her, get anywhere near to piercing the flinty shell in which she'd encapsulated her heart.

The story was there waiting to be told in her eyes, in each subsequent picture that was taken of her with various men but with no strings attached.

After the newspapers reported her third consecutive refusal of marriage, this time to a high-profile wizard of the same rank, wealth, and socio-political standing as Lucius's own had once been, both the tabloids and the _Prophet_ had begun referring to her as 'The Untouchable Ice Queen'.

Reports of her activities soon stopped thereafter, and she hadn't in the last two years, had her photograph or private activities commentated upon either through injunction, Potter's interference with the Ministry, her own avoidance, or a combination of the three.

Oh, Hermione Granger was a queen alright, but Lucius knew ice, and she was far from frigid. Their first encounter upon his stepping foot in this house proved that. No. She was guarded and armored to the teeth to protect herself, but Lucius would find a way past her defenses.

The girl deserved more from life than to spend it cold and alone.

Making certain her bedroom looked exactly as it had when first he entered it, he went back to his room and made up his own bed, laying her pillow where he would rest his head. And stripping until he was bared completely, Lucius spared a moment of sweet anticipation before sliding into the cool comfort of her sheets.

With a relaxed sigh, he lay and turned his head into her pillow, inhaling her wonderful scent, going straight to sleep.

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Study and sleep: that was all Hermione did. Morning, noon, and night.

Heavy on the former, light on the latter, and her revision would be so much easier with her journal, but she refused to even acknowledge the existence of the bastard that had it, let alone inquire after her stolen property.

She would have liked a change of scenery other than the four walls that comprised her room, but the rest of the house was off-limits to her until the wee hours of night due to her reluctant 'roommates'. Only then did she feel comfortable going into the kitchen in secret to make her allotment of meals.

Kreacher was good to her, bringing her a portion of the breakfast he made for the others which he sat outside her door, but for whatever reason, the elf now refused to come into her room. His typical stand-offish behavior was downright recalcitrant now, and while she had never expected him to clean up after her, as he did for any other guest that wasn't of muggle-born status, she had come to value their talks when he'd drop by on occasion, typically mumbling a contrived complaint about her under his breath just to gain her attention so she _would_ talk to him.

But now, he refused to even set foot inside her room, and Hermione tried not to see this as a personal slight to her but as yet another indicator of blood status. There was a Pureblood present after all, and Kreacher had been taught to defer to that legacy above all else.

The little elf honestly couldn't help calling her mud-blood, she knew, but over the years, she had thought they had built up a nice rapport.

Well, more fool then she.

More fool, indeed.

After the war, Hermione had been plagued with thoughts of suicide and crippling depression.

Harry's proposed crusade to right the wrongs of Dumbledore's falsely convicted spies had helped greatly in giving her a reason to keep fighting, but still, for a number of years, she had been on a strict regimen of muggle anti-depressant medication and talk therapy. And through this and much research on the subject of mental health, Hermione had found she didn't need medication at all as long as she kept her defenses in place—through avoidance mostly—and implemented coping strategies such as putting down the books and journeying outside once and a while, cooking for herself, singing, and dancing.

It sounded ridiculous, and if anyone were to see her at it, they would not believe, but it actually worked to help boost her levels of endorphins and serotonin as well as keep her outlook upbeat and pleasant.

She was neither a particularly good dancer, nor particularly fine singer, but dammit, did she know how to cook thanks to the Boys of Company 'B' in Gloucester.

And now, thanks to her oh so reluctant flat-mates, she hadn't truly gone outside in weeks, being confined as she'd been to her room.

Oh, she knew she was not under house-arrest.

She could leave when and if she wanted, and occasionally did when the walls were closing in and she felt that one more moment spent in her room was going to be her undoing. However, as the weeks wore on, more often than not, she spent more and more time in her room, cuddling her pillow close, reluctant to rise out of bed to face her revision each day.

Hermione knew if she let herself, how easy it would be to revert back to that old pattern of thinking, that old mold of insecurity and crippling despair. But she didn't allow herself. At least, she hadn't with her journal there to allocate her days and hours for her.

Now, without it…

Well, with the money she was saving on rent, Hermione resolved she would enroll in a muggle dance class first thing tomorrow morning. She needed something besides reading with which to help structure her days, and it might as well be something she enjoyed since life at the moment was proving depressingly bleak.

So thinking, she closed the book on the legalities and ethics of muggle fraud and grabbed her bath things as well as her ipod. She hadn't enjoyed a long soak in a while, and she figured she was more than past-due. It was time to pamper herself a bit, and if she felt like singing, well, that was what a 'Muffliato' and sound-dampening charms were for, were they not?

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The witch had been in the bathing chamber for well over an hour going nigh on two, and Lucius wondered if it was as he supposed, and she was enjoying a good, leisurely soak.

He hoped so. He dearly hoped so. Both he and Severus had found excuses to walk past, though they could hear nothing from within, hoping to catch her warm and fresh-faced, skin aglow from her bath perhaps as she opened the door.

It hadn't happened yet in the five weeks they had been living together, but both wizards, Lucius knew, were hopeful that eventually it would.

And today might be the day.

Hearing a slight, low humming noise coming from the linen cupboard adjacent to the bath, and curious, Lucius cautiously opened the door and peeked in.

The sight he found had his eyebrows shooting to his hairline.

The house-elf stood beside an exposed length of plumbers' pipe, his eyes closed and his ear pressed lovingly into it, almost wrapped around it as he listened to some unknown sound and hummed—the elf was humming— lowly along with what he heard.

He had a gods-awful, tone-deaf singing voice.

"You there!" Lucius demanded, making his way into the cupboard. "What are you about, hmm?"

The elf jumped, startled, and then blanched, shaking his head. "Nothing! Kreacher was doing nothing, Mr. Malfoy, sir."

Lucius pointed a manicured finger down at the little elf's hooked nose. "You will tell me what you were listening to, and you will do so immediately."

The elf blushed and looked down at his furry toes. "It's the mud-blood Miss, Mr. Malfoy, sir. She puts on these spells and dampening magic and things so she cannot be heard, but Kreacher can still hear her singing through the pipes." The bedraggled thing gave a small, wistful smile and said softly, "Kreacher's mud-blood friend has a truly lovely voice."

"Move," Lucius barked, ordering the elf out of the way.

However, far from leaving the cupboard, the elf only stepped aside just enough so that Lucius could get adequately close to press his ear against the pipe, and then the elf, jostled his way below him, until he once more had his ear wrapped around the pipe.

Distantly, he heard the barest scant of singing as if from very far away echoed underwater. He could barely make it out with his human ears, but the elf had no trouble at all, apparently, for the creature sighed and began humming along happily once more.

"Quiet!" Lucius barked softly and cuffed the elf on the ear, just as Severus made one of his rounds beside the bathing chamber this time headed in pretense to the kitchen.

The cupboard door was ajar, and looking up, Lucius saw Severus had very much the same look on his face as Lucius had but a moment before.

'Miss Granger', Lucius mouthed, 'singing'.

Severus's expression changed to one of interest as he, too, stepped forward into the little cupboard and put his ear up to the pipe forcing the other two to jockey around him for better position. There was much grunting and shoving as the house-elf was a determined little thing, but finally, the three of them found a semblance of comfort, and Lucius looked up to his brother to gauge his reaction.

Severus's typically scowling face instantly softened as he listened to the echo of the pipes and heard the witch sing.

And never had Lucius's fingers itched for his wand more than at this moment, for he needed an amplification charm most desperately to properly hear her for his hearing wasn't as keen, apparently, as the other two fellows in the room.

He looked down at the elf, his eyes narrowing. "Kreacher," he whispered, "I want you to perform an amplification spell on the pipe."

The elf shook his head, looking up at Lucius belligerently, "Kreacher cannot. Not part of house-elf magic. Now, quiet!" and he wrapped his ear back on the pipe.

Taken aback, but now a bit desperate, Lucius began hopefully, "Severus…"

All he got in return was an irate scowl as Severus turned his other ear to the pipe, effectively showing Lucius his back. The elf again jostled him for better position.

There had to be something…. something in this magical house he could use…

A resonance crystal might work… it amplified the user's natural magic after all enabling wandless magic to be more readily accessible when channeled through its form.

And crystals did lend themselves to sound and amplification magic especially.

He might have even recalled there being one in the study…

Shoving past them, Lucius quickly ran up the stairs and then back down again, out of breath and clutching the pointed crystal in his hand.

He closed his eyes and waited for his energies to align with it.

Crystals weren't as accurate as wands, and therefore were not used as much, but the right practitioner could wield a crystal just as skillfully pending on the type of spell and the harmonies aligned with the crystal.

Feeling his energies fall in sync, he thought of the spell he wanted to perform and held it directly to the pipe, feeling his magic stir within him.

The first two times he attempted it, the refraction of the crystal caused his spells to go awry, dissolving uselessly into a bundle of linen. However, he turned the crystal and tried again, focusing on the refraction point, and then suddenly her sweet voice was filling the little cupboard with song.

The other two removed their ears from the pipe and blinked up at him; Lucius crossed his arms in front of himself with a self-satisfied sneer, and closed his eyes, all the better to listen.

Her voice, because of the pipe's amplification, sounded a bit like Mermish when spoken underwater, and the song she was singing was haunting, lending a bit to the effect.

' _I can't keep up with your turning tables;_

 _under your thumb I can't breathe.'_

Her voice was sublime.

Gritty and earthy one moment, light as a butterfly's wing the next. Hearing her sing gave Lucius chills.

And upon understanding the lyrical content of the song she sung, he opened his eyes and met Severus's as they all three continued to listen entranced.

The ballad was an ode to heartbreak; the singer would never be able to give her heart again because of her past experience with both love itself and the gentleman in question. She was, in essence, held in a castle-keep, armed to the teeth, a dragon of her own devising guarding o'er.

She might as well be singing it _to_ them.

Miss Granger finished the song on a haunting refrain, an incidental note which left Lucius feeling quixotic and incomplete. She pulled the stopper, and the bathwater started to drain. With a turning of the crystal and a focused thought, Lucius quickly cancelled the spell, and the three of them hurriedly exiting and closing the cupboard, made a mad rush for the kitchen.

In record time, the elf had tea for both Severus and himself laid out upon the trestle table and both jostled for position in sitting to be able to look outside the door to catch a glimpse of her as she walked past.

Severus lost, and with bad grace, grabbed his cup and saucer and leaned casually against the counter, his head in profile to the open kitchen door.

"Kreacher," Lucius stated lowly, "Once she comes out, go ask her if she would like tea. Make no mention of her voice, do you hear me?"

The little elf—a natural Slytherin if there ever was one—cottoned onto what Lucius wanted immediately, and nodded wisely.

The three of them heard the latch to the bathroom open and Lucius relaxed completely, bringing the cup he was holding casually aloft as he held it up to his lips. From his periphery, Lucius looked to find Severus doing the same; his brother's curtain of hair, for once, swept back behind his shoulder facing the door so he could clearly see her in his periphery as she walked past.

All three heard her soft footfalls on the carpet, and the elf—Merlin bless him!—stepped out of the kitchen and stopped her right outside the doorway.

Cautioning himself not to look at her too keenly or with too much intensity, Lucius perused her quickly from head to toe over the top of his cup with a relaxed interest. He then casually sat the cup and saucer he was holding down.

Thank Merlin, he could look fast and recount what he saw down to the most minute detail; a trait Albus Dumbledore had prized highly.

She wore another set of shapeless witch's robes—this one puce green. But her hair was still damp and wet, golden curls caught the glimmer of candlelight in a feminine hairclip behind her. And small tendrils of curl surrounded her flushed and rosy face, still dewy from her bath. He noticed her pinky toe peeking out from beneath the shapeless garment and smiled softly to himself.

Beneath the puce green potato sacking, the witch was barefoot.

"Thank you, Kreacher, for offering. Tea would be lovely," she said softly to the elf and made to move past him.

"But wouldn't Mud-blood Miss prefer to have it in the kitchen with Master's other guests?"

Lucius loudly cleared his throat in hopes of prompting the little elf to cease this tack immediately or to prompt Miss Granger to look his way, either would do.

"No, thank you. You can leave it outside my room if you'd like," she finally skirted past, "or if that's too much trouble, there's no need to bother," she ended on a whisper.

And the three of them heard her light footfalls pad softly up the stairs once more.

The elf came back into the kitchen, a frowning scowl on his face as he said sourly, "It hurts Kreacher to see Mud-blooded Miss so alone. Accomplished as she is, she should be married with a passel of younglings to see to," he tutted and shook his head as he went over to prepare the things for her tea.

Severus, however, none-too-gently shoved the elf out of the way and began preparing it himself.

The elf continued talking as if he hadn't just been ousted out of the way, and amused, Lucius turned to watch Severus as he worked. "The mud-blood Miss needs a husband is what she needs. Someone to take care of her, remind her to eat, and make her tea."

Lucius's lips twitched at that, and he murmured, "Well Severus is working on the latter, elf.

"Mud-blooded Miss is stubborn," the elf tutted, shaking his head.

Severus's hand suddenly shot out and encompassed the elf's throat, squeezing tightly.

Lucius was on his feet in an instant, darting around the table and putting himself between the two, trying to break Severus's unrelenting hold. "Severus…" Lucius said softly facing him, "Good help is hard to come by at the moment. And the girl is fond of the elf… _release him_."

Far from doing so, the dark wizard turned and bent down until his eyes were on level with the frightened elf's bulbous and now blood-shot eyes. Severus grit through clenched teeth, "You will never… call her 'mud-blood' again. Do you understand? Make no mistake, you do, and I will _kill_ you _."_

His typical ashen-gray pallor turning blue now, the little elf nodded weakly, desperately clawing at the hand that held him by the throat.

Severus released him to the elf's choking, gasping relief.

Sucking in air, the elf bowed low on his knees before Severus, breathing raggedly, "Krea-cher is… sorry, Ma-Master Sn-Snape. K-Kreacher meant no off-ense."

"Your continued existence offends me," Severus hissed lowly, turning away from the prostrate elf and back towards the half-finished tea service. "Leave."

With a 'pop', the thing was gone and Lucius looked up at Severus, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes.

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"To the victor go the spoils then Severus?" Lucius asked him questioningly.

Severus shook his head as he finished making her tea, knowing he was rising to the blond wizard's baiting. "She is not a prize to be won, Lucius," he rasped and turned to face his old friend, saying via Legilimency, _**'Hermione Granger is a grown woman capable of deciding for herself who the better wizard among the two of us shall be. Although truthfully, if she had any sense at all, she'd run from this house and not look back.'**_

Lucius gave him a droll smile. "She tried doing that, Severus, and _you_ barred the door."

Severus rolled his eyes and gave a last discriminating look at the tray. He'd chosen mild peppermint infused tea with honey and lemon, a balm for her throat. When he got his wand back, he would be able to make her some lozenges to carry around with her to ease the effects and strain of a tired voice. He had spent part of his stay at Azkaban mentally crafting one of many such formulas he believed would work wonders for his voice.

The potion at a fifth the strength he planned for himself presented via lozenge should work just as well for her.

Merlin, but her voice!

The elf was right. How the hell was the witch not married yet? It made no sense, no logical sense whatsoever for her to be as alone as she was with as much beauty, as much talent and intelligence!

But gods!

As broken and scarred as he was, Severus Snape wanted to be her wizard, her match…. but did he honestly have what it would take to do so?

Intellectually? yes.

Spiritually? he wanted to learn.

Sexually? Gods, yes, please!

Physically? Not a bloody chance in hell.

She was a witch just entering the prime of womanhood, and he was a washed-up, has-been spy with more blood on his hands and grease in his hair than the woman could shake a bar of soap at.

 _And_ , lest he forget, Hermione Granger thought he hated her.

Well… that was before he'd heard the witch sing.

Even as he'd watched her dance and cook, as happy as she'd been, Severus had resented her, resented what he felt towards her. Now, he just wanted her for his own with a covetousness that astounded him.

"Have you listened to a word I've said? Lost in thoughts of her, aren't you?" Lucius said knowingly from beside him.

"What are your intentions?" Severus rasped, looking over at his brother with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, same as yours I suspect." A gleam of merry devilment danced in Lucius's eyes, and Severus probed, looking for a chink in his brother's occlumency shield.

The bastard was occluding very well.

Summoning the elf, Severus foisted upon him the tray and bid he take it to her. The thing was still trembling and wheezing slightly, but Severus couldn't feel sorry for what he had done. He was only sorry it took him so long to do it.

The thing had been disparaging her and those like her for years. And if there was one thing Severus hated most, it was that word…

For it was a reminder of what it had cost him so very long ago.

Severus turned to Lucius and studied him seriously, asking quietly, "Will you marry her?"

"Miss Granger doesn't strike me as the marrying kind, Severus," Lucius replied softly, the smile dimming in his eyes.

"She is _only_ the marrying kind," Severus ground as he stepped up toe to toe to his brother, staring him down.

Lucius smirked. "My, but you _do_ have a lot to learn about our Miss Granger, do you not? The girl is the girl that 'can't be caught', the 'Untouchable Ice Queen'; far better men than you or I have tried to nab her by the heart and place a ring on her finger, and none have, thus far, succeeded, Severus." Lucius's pale blue eyes glinted in challenge.

Severus said via Legilimency, _**'So, is that it then? The first wizard to make her fall in love with him, wins her love**_? _**And the other will forfeit pursuit of her?**_ '

Lucius smiled sadly, his face tight with resolution. "Yes; I suppose it is, brother."

Was this what tore them apart?

A woman?

Severus didn't think _anything_ could after the hell they'd been through together.

But my gods, what a woman she was!

Severus abruptly jerked away from the counter and began walking away. He hadn't a chance with her.

She hated him.

She had been attracted to Lucius; even as pitiful as both he and Lucius had looked back then, she had been. And Severus had intimidated the hell out of her. After all, he'd made it an artform from childhood to do so, and no woman of _her_ worth and esteem would want to be associated with a man like him.

Not when she was everything— _everything_ a wizard could dream of having in a witch.

Could Severus concede and let Lucius have her for however long the blond wizard took to fancying her?

He knew of Lucius's past, his marriage and his mistresses. Infidelity had never sat right with Severus, but Lucius and Narcissa hadn't had that kind of marriage he would want to offer Miss Granger.

 _If_ he offered for her.

Merlin! What the hell was he thinking?! Thinking of competing with Lucius to acquire a wife? A wife he hadn't even begun to love! It was ludicrous.

No.

He would go with things as planned and forget he'd ever seen her. He'd get his stipend from the Ministry, he would get his wand, and then he would fade away into the shadows, the background of things.

Alone after all.

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A/N: If you're enjoying my little tale, let this little authoress know, won't you? Things are beginning to heat up, and oh! What a catch our little Gryffindor is turning out to be for her two snakes. I wonder which she will choose if a choice she does make? ;0)

Until next time,

-k


	4. The Boys of Company 'B'

Ch. 4— The Boys of Company 'B'

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Hermione was as good as her word, after consulting the muggle gym she frequented for times, she discovered a beginner's lyrics dance class early enough that she could take and still feel like it wasn't impeding her day of study. On the days before she had class, she wouldn't be able to cook her meals as she'd need to go to bed earlier to make up her sleep, so she'd have to plan for that accordingly.

But her first lesson had been wonderful!

With the house still asleep, Hermione left at the gray light of dawn and had apparated in her drab gray witch's robes to the gym, arriving there Disillusioned. Seeing how the other muggles were dressed, she dug in her beaded bag until she found some black leggings, a pink sports bra and a purple tank top Ginny had gotten her for her birthday last year that said, 'Look like a Beauty, Train like a Beast', and then she went to the bathroom to change. She didn't have any shoes—ballet or otherwise that would protect her feet other than her trainers.

But her plan was to go and observe, and if she needed anything special, then she would know better for next time.

She hadn't needed anything but her two bare feet and boundless amounts of energy.

Madam T'sara, the instructor, told them in a thick New York accent to 'Dance the shit out it!' and put on a song Hermione vaguely remembered being covered by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, letting them have the floor.

The others guided her through the steps, teaching her what she needed to do. No one was 'performance ready', but everyone was having a wonderful time, and practically no one was self-conscious of the way they looked. One of the girls even twirled herself into a mirror, bumping her head in the process. But did the girl stop dancing?

No way!

It was… an experience Hermione couldn't wait to repeat again.

But dear God! She was sticky and sweaty and positively foul-smelling. Her hair had come undone halfway through class, and in exasperation, Hermione let it flow free while she danced.

And just the thought of having to put back on those damned robes again set her to cringing.

After finishing tying the laces on her trainers and checking the time on her watch, she figured she had just enough time to apparate back to Grimmauld, chug a glass of juice and perhaps eat a slice of toast and take a short bath before the rest of the house awoke.

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Severus had watched her leave earlier in the morning.

He didn't like it when she left—especially as she just did, without telling anyone where she was going, or giving anyone notice as to her leaving. But Hermione Granger was a grown witch able to aptly fend for herself and free to do as she pleased.

Still, that didn't stop him from worrying.

He looked out the front window of the dining room to the darkened street below. It was still the hour of pre-dawn, and perhaps, she wouldn't be back this time.

But no, Miss Granger had given her word, and if there was a witch of whom he never had to question her integrity, it was her.

She would be back. Even as Severus had the thought, he saw her round the corner… or, at least, a woman that _looked_ like her round the corner.

But the woman's hair was wild with curl, the volume standing out well above her head and looking hoydenish, and she was scarcely dressed—not like what his Miss Granger had been wearing at all when she left the house.

As she grew closer, Severus observed her from the tips of her muggle trainers to the loose-fitting sleeveless top that said, 'Look like a beauty, train like a beast.' That was over-boastful, surely… but as the woman drew closer and appeared under a streetlamp, Severus realized she was, indeed, quite beautiful.

For she was, indeed, Miss Hermione Granger: a very flushed Miss Granger who took a moment to stop right below the window where he stood and stretch herself beside the stoop outside the front door.

And sweet Hera, mother of the gods! By the light of the street-lamps, Severus could see straight down the loose-fitting purple top she wore to the tight, pink muggle corset she had on underneath it, binding her breasts.

Ah, gods, but her nipples were erect!

He clutched at the sill to keep himself upright as he looked down, the blood suddenly rushing to other, more important parts of his anatomy than his head, making him feel lethargic and weak. It also made him feel every bit the lecherous, dirty-minded old man he was as he eagerly absorbed every inch of his former student's shapely, delectable frame from the plump, firm curve of her backside defined in the tight, form-fitting muggle breeches, to the low-cut, bosom-exposing top that showed her chest still heaving with exertion, the two twin peaks of her breasts standing out diamond-hard, even though she was almost fully recovered—at least from being out of breath.

She suddenly looked up at the window, and Severus jerked backing away.

Had she seen him? Dear gods, had she seen him?

He quickly walked to the kitchen and sat in the far corner, a long-time favorite haunt of his whenever he frequented the house for Order meetings as the far corner lay in shadow. For the most part, he could remain quiet and unobserved; which was how he preferred things, truly, especially now when he could barely speak.

She would go straightway to the bath, and once she did that, he would go to the closet and put his ear to the—what was wrong with him?! He had to practically slap himself, metaphorically-speaking of course, for his inappropriate thoughts.

Voyeurism was not the conduct of an honorable wizard, and damn it! He would behave the way Miss Granger expected him to behave. He would leave her alone to live her life, and she would be all the better for it without him in it.

The front door opened and closed with a soft click, and then her trainer-shod footsteps fell gently upon the floor. She was being even lighter of step than usual which meant she was trying to be cautious, perhaps trying not to awaken the rest of the household? Severus expected to hear her walk past the kitchen any moment now towards the lavatory.

She didn't.

She came right into the space he occupied, within mere feet of him.

And Severus watched as she opened the larder, and summoning a glass from the dish drainer by the sink, poured herself a tall glass of pumpkin juice, and drank nearly half in one go. The other half, she held up to her forehead and then her still flushed cheeks.

Severus groaned soundlessly.

How easy it would be, if she wanted and was aware of him, for him to reach out and pull her over onto his knee, and fondle her pink and purple-clad breasts through the revealing layers of the muggle tops she wore, experiencing first-hand the racing of her heart. Perhaps she'd even let him dip his hand into her tight, black muggle breeches—for they could not be called 'trousers' not by any stretch of the imagination— and let him feel her moisture and the gathering heat.

She would lean so trustingly against him, the dear weight of her head falling on his shoulder, and he would caress her little bead of nerved flesh, palming and fingering her until she arched back moaning, shattering to pieces in his arms.

He blinked, realizing he'd been day-dreaming, and had quite lost himself in thought while the witch busied herself preparing a piece of toast and hurriedly gobbling it up along with the remainder of her juice.

And then turning, she left him and went to the lav.

Did she honestly think _that_ constituted breakfast after the callisthenic rigors she'd clearly put her body through?

Severus rolled his eyes.

The witch knew better… at least, he _hoped_ she did.

Rising from his corner nook, he went to the larder and checked its contents: eggs, cheese, a smattering assortment of vegetables.

Nothing too complicated or rich; her body wouldn't appreciate a greasy, fat-laden meal after such exercise. An egg-white scramble, perhaps with mushrooms, a few of the other vegetables and some cheese would do nicely. Protein from the white of the egg, fat from the cheese, and simple sugar from the vegetables should give her system the nice, gentle lift it needed to set her on course for the rest of her day, provided she kept up the momentum with a mid-day meal.

She was finished bathing long before he was even finished sweating the vegetables, and Severus saw a pale gray blur of witch's robes and a head of gleaming damp curls flash by before she was gone once more up the stairs.

She hadn't even noticed him.

"Kreacher," Severus croaked. And it was a full five minutes before the damned elf appeared, looking surly, half-asleep, and very much put-upon. Severus scowled down at the damned thing. "Take this directly to Miss Granger and make sure she eats it." He gestured to the tray he was preparing.

The house-elf shook his head. "Cannot, Mr. Snape, Mud-bl—" the elf's eyes went wide, and he stepped back, panicked, clutching at his neck where Severus's handprint was still clearly visible. "Kreacher cannot go into _Miss'_ room," he reported fearfully.

"Oh, and why not?" Severus asked, his tone lethal as he plated the scramble and set apart a slice of fresh, chilled cantaloupe, covering the plate with a warming lid and wandless stasis charm.

"Mr. Malfoy told me not to, sir. Instructed me not to touch the Mu-" the elf flinched at Severus's hostile stare, "—uggle-born miss's things. Said he'd hurt Kreacher if he did."

"And what do you think," Severus turned to face the elf and leaned down menacingly, looking down his hooked nose at the elf's, "Lucius is doing in her room then?"

The elf began to back away, shaking his head. "Kreacher knows not, Master Snape. Only that Mr. Malfoy enjoys going into the mu—ggle-born miss' room at times, carrying his bed-linens. Kreacher does not understand why."

Severus's eyes narrowed at this. What would the primpy blond bastard want to do with his sheets in Miss Granger's bed?

Unless…

Oh, Lucius _was_ playing at the long game, was he not? A very desperate and perverse game as well. Hmm, well two could definitely play there….

"Kreacher. That will be all," Severus dismissed in a fare imitation of the elf's own rasping drawl.

In hearing the similarity, it actually gave him an idea, and putting a goblet of ice-cold water on the tray as well as utensils and a linen napkin, Severus quit the kitchen and began climbing the stairs up to her room. He scratched on the door as any house-elf was wont to do, and rasped in the elf's grouchy, surly tones, "Breakfast!"

"Thank you, Kreacher, but I've already eaten," Severus heard from inside her room.

After weeks of observing the two's interaction, he had this down to a fine art in a matter of seconds. "Miss needs to eat," he said in a truculent whisper. "Kreacher cooked Miss breakfast, and Miss has to eat it!" His voice broke on the last couple of words, but Severus thought she heard him. He gave another impatient scratching on the door for good measure.

And setting the tray down with a rattle, careful not to actually disturb its contents too much, Severus stepped to the other side of the hall and peaked out from within a darkened doorway.

A moment later her door opened wide, "Do you have a cold... Kreach… errm?" The once more drab and dowdily-dressed witch looked around the empty hallway, blinking and mystified at the little elf's absence, and Severus smirked. She looked down at the tray on the floor before her and shook her head, stooping to lift the warming lid.

And then she smiled, delighted with what she found. "Well, that's very thoughtful!" She scooped up the tray and went back to her room, a smile still on her face before she closed the door once more.

And Severus stood up taller, feeling bolstered by this small success.

Even if she didn't yet know it, he, Severus Snape, was taking care of her.

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.

Lucius pointed the resonance crystal at the journal yet again and tried to get the blasted thing to yield.

Her agenda was there to be viewed by anyone who picked it up, but there was another enchantment placed on it, a 'mine eyes only' charm that he was having a deuce of a time dismantling with the crystal as his concentrated source.

Well, even with his wand, he would have found it fiendishly difficult. The witch knew her security charms, he'd give her that. Charms, however, had been a field of study of which Lucius had aptly excelled, and he had kept up pursuit after his schooling was complete, more of a hobby than anything approaching academic.

However, he was far better-read in the field than the average academic, that was… up until his conviction and subsequent sentencing ten years ago. And obviously, more stringent security charms had been invented during that time. He felt out-dated, ancient, and clumsy next to the sleek, streamlined example of spell-work revealed before him. Merciful Merlin, there had to be some little thread, some little tendril out of place.

The girl couldn't have caught all the tricks in the book… could she have done?

He flipped through page after secured tighter-than-Gringott's page in disbelief.

The magically expansive journal went back _years_ … over a decade, in fact.

In point of fact, he was certain that the hunt for horcruxes was in this journal, perhaps even her girl-hood schoolwork and timetable. And perhaps, her thoughts were written in these very pages!

Oh, what a treasure, what a gem!

If he could find a way to open it that was…

Well, perhaps he didn't need to open it… perhaps… all he needed to do… was replicate it?

Lucius grinned, his thoughts unfurling. The 'Duplio' charm. Yes, that was it. The 'Duplio' charm in conjunction with the journal, and the charm to make two-way mirrors. As she wrote in the thing, he would be able to see it. And once she unlocked it, he would be able to read the entirety of its contents via his copy at his leisure… provided he changed the password on his copy.

It was going to take a week at least, using the crystal, for him to manufacture such a thing, but… Lucius closed his eyes in thought and grinned.

 _Oh, my little minx. My beautiful, little minx, do I have you now._

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Severus conducted surveillance from the shadows of the courtyard as Miss Granger once more prepared her meals, and he was assessing whether or not she would notice him if he hid in his shadowed spot in the kitchen while she did so.

So far, all indicators were she would not, if she didn't notice him upon first entry.

It had been only a couple days since he had seen her leaving so early and returning so spent. She had yet to do so again, but that didn't stop Severus from being on his watch for her just in case. Earlier, he had observed Lucius steal in and out of her rooms while the witch was in the kitchen preparing her meals, the blond wizard exchanging his bed-linens for her own.

But, Severus smirked, he too could imprint upon the delectable Miss Granger his scent, accustom the witch to it in order to get nearer her.

It was an old Slytherin ploy used by puerile young wizards to 'mark' the witch they intended to have as their own. Used at Hogwarts through amenable house-elves sympathetic to a wizard's aims, it was subtle as a sigh, and yet, worked like a charm to condition and make the witch more receptive to her wizard's particular redolent aura. The muggles liked to call it 'pheromones', Severus called it for what it was: a primal marking of territory.

Severus looked at the sheets he had slept in for the last fortnight, barely used at all. He didn't sleep but a few hours at most and only rarely, but sometimes, he _did_ come up here and lay his head upon the pillow to think, and it was the pillow he exchanged for Lucius's own.

He was appalling at cleaning and freshening charms, and so, couldn't dispel all the wizard's scent from the damn thing. But the pillow now upon his bed smelled of Miss Granger too, because Lucius had been exchanging their pillows every time the witch prepared a meal.

It was a co-mingling of their two scents, and Severus was suddenly glad of his cleaning charms deficiency, for perhaps after Miss Granger had gone to bed tonight, he would find sleep's embrace with the aid of her citrus-spice bouquet to lead him into dreaming.

Once he got back his wand, he would put a gentle charm upon her pillow so that, when she did seek her rest, it would be peaceful and deep. Begrudgingly he would be doing so for Lucius as well.

Ah, well… Severus truly didn't mind it, but he was loathed to give Lucius yet another advantage in the pursuit of her if he could help it.

The blond wizard already had enough a head start as is.

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Hermione's next dance class wasn't until tomorrow, and it was with much anticipation she was looking forward to it. She had been hard at work reviewing arguments both for and against more stringent guidelines for were-wolf registration with the Ministry.

As it was, in this post-Voldemort world, each were-wolf was required to report every day for one week of each month leading up to the full moon to the Ministry of Magic's creature division in order to receive their mandatory dosing of Wolfsbane.

Any were-wolf to skip a dosing, was automatically sent to Azkaban to await trial, and more often than not euthanasia.

It was awful.

"Mu—ggle-born Miss," Kreacher scratched on her door, and curious, Hermione put down the book and went to answer his summons. He hadn't called her 'mud-blood'.

Now that was strange…

Kreacher bowed his head in deference to her, and he _never_ did that. Alright, just what the hell was going on?! "Master Harry wishes to speak to Miss in the study if Miss is willing."

She smiled, "Of course, I'm willing, silly elf!" and she tugged his ear affectionately as she moved past him down the hall.

Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy were already there, seated on the sofa and talking quietly with him. She had thought from the location it would be a 'floo' call, but Harry was there, seated in a chair before the two men.

She came into the room and conversation ceased.

"Hermione," Harry smiled up at her sunnily and stood. Both Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape did so as well.

She bounded up to Harry and embraced him in a warm hug and then pushed back, drinking in the sight of him. He was dressed in muggle jeans and a t-shirt, but both were rumpled and dirty-looking.

He looked exhausted.

He, too, was surveying her from head to toe and then looking at her questioningly. "What are you wearing? You look like Ginny's Aunt Muriel."

She cleared her throat and rejoined dryly, "Yes, well naturally, you're looking your best as well." She pointed her wand at him and dispelled the snot, bogies, wrinkles, and stains from his clothes as well as repairing his cracked and broken glasses once more.

He felt them. "How'd you—?" Seeming to remember who he was speaking to, he grinned. "Ginny and I both tried… it was Albus throwing a magical tantrum."

She smirked, "You're the one who named him after—" and then blushed as she remembered the man himself was in the room.

Harry sighed, "Yes, yes. I have only myself to blame there," and the both of them looked over at Professor Snape who scowled at them in return.

Mr. Malfoy merely grinned, obviously amused.

The 'floo' crackled and flared, and the very desperate and harassed face of Ginny Potter appeared before them.

" 'Mione," she said tiredly, her eyes baggy and bloodshot. " 'm so glad to see you back home and settled." Her eyes opened wide as the witch examined her from head to toe, "Gads! What are you wearing? You look like Aunt Muriel!"

She heard three distinct male snorts behind her, and shook her head, "Everyone's a critic. What's the matter with you? Do you need anything?"

"A vat of 'Wide-eye potion' would do me wonders right about now…" the red-headed witch closed her eyes on a sigh, "or a nice fishbowl margarita with an umbrella poking out from the salted rim. And a white, sandy beach… and a cute, little cabana boy wearing nothing but a banana hammock and a smile…" she trailed off, smiling slightly.

"Um… Ginny?" both Harry and Hermione asked uncertainly.

The young mother shook her head, not even bothering to open her eyes. "Sorry. 'm sorry. I'm just so tired, I'm punchy, y' know?" Wearily, she opened her eyes and met Hermione's. "It's Dragonpox. All three of the little monsters contracted it at once," she bemoaned succinctly, and Hermione winced.

There was nothing for it but to endure.

"Have you asked them yet?" Ginny looked over Hermione's shoulder towards Harry.

Harry shook his head. "No, but I will now." He acknowledged the three of them standing in the room beside him. "One of the reasons I'm here is to see if we could 'borrow' Kreacher for a bit. Just until the hoard gets back on its feet?"

"Of course," Hermione immediately agreed, Mr. Malfoy seconding her. Professor Snape nodded once.

Ginny nodded, obviously relieved, and then weakly waved goodbye. 'Kreacher!' they all heard Ginny bellow at the top of her lungs before disconnecting the 'floo', and a cracking 'BOOM' that shook the house was heard by all.

Harry winced. "Well, since I have some time on my hands before my meeting at the Ministry, how's about the four of us catch up with the Boys at Company 'B'? I'm starved, and Ginny, gods bless her, hasn't had time to cook in days with the hoard being ill and all."

Hermione raised her eyebrow as arm to her back, Harry began ushering her out of the study. "You could learn to fix for yourself, you know?" she rejoined smartly looking over her shoulder at him.

He shook his head. "I know how to burn toast. You remember. That's about the extent of my cooking abilities." He looked behind him at Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy as they followed them out into the hall. "It's a good thing Ginny inherited her cooking charms from Molly, otherwise the five of us would starve."

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.

"You did starve once upon a time if I remember correctly?" Lucius asked the bespectacled wizard watching the byplay between Potter and Miss Granger.

"I'm afraid that was my doing," Miss Granger smiled deprecatingly up at Potter. "I'm horrid with cooking charms."

Lucius looked at her curiously, but he saw Severus's eyes widen slightly in realization as if he knew something Lucius didn't.

Not wanting to waste a moment talking to the witch, he said smoothly, "It seems to me, as you've just stated, Potter could have learned to 'do for himself'. His stomach was not _your_ responsibility to fill."

"And yet, she made it her responsibility," Severus rejoined in a whisper, never one to be outdone, "As well as seeing to the well-being of two adolescent wizards that had no idea how to care for themselves."

Lucius watched her blush delicately under their regard, and he smiled to himself.

Lovely.

Potter grinned and gave her a nudge, "Yeah, Hermione saved our lives. We would have starved or gotten caught long before without her."

Potter and the girl were familiar—loving—and as closely connected as family. Potter had his hand on her back, and she had her arm linked through his. With the travails he had let slip over the years of their hellish journey together that year spent searching for horcruxes in the tent, Lucius could see the bond of love and familial devotion clearly—as brother to sister. As it stood, Potter would make a formidable foe or an invaluable asset in Lucius's pursuit of her.

"Care to jot down that ingredient list for that potion we discussed while we wait, Professor?" Potter asked Severus, walking to the hall bureau and grabbing a self-inking quill and parchment.

"Wait? Why would we need to wait?" Miss Granger asked him curiously. "I just need to grab my bag, and we can go..."

Potter shook his head and pointed at her, giving her a level look. "I'm not going out with you looking like that." His lips twitched. "Go change!"

"Prat," she scoffed, laughingly swatting at him.

"Aunt Muriel," he replied succinctly, easily fending her off. "And wear something nice. You know Emiel will want you to sing," he called after her, obviously goading her on.

"Not gonna happen, Harry," she called back, closing her bedroom door.

"Miss Granger sings?" Severus asked offhandedly.

"Hermione does and very well too; I've been meaning to ask… have you both noticed anything strange concerning her? Is she doing alright?"

"We barely see her at all actually," Lucius said, "Miss Granger stays in her room much of the time."

Potter shook his head, "Yes, I just bet she does. Look, I hate to ask this of you both, and I know I've been leaning on you a bit much where Hermione's concerned, but she needs to get out the house every once and a while. She has a tendency towards single-minded pursuit bordering on—"

"—obsession?" Severus interjected, with a slight raise of his eyebrow. Lucius caught his eyes for just a moment. Gods, but this was too easy.

"Yeah…" Potter ruffled his own hair, "I know I'm asking a lot here, but just… try and get her away from the books, won't you? Hermione needs—"

This was becoming painfully tedious. "Say no more, Potter; we're on top of it," Lucius smiled tightly, cutting him short. Thank the gods he heard the girl coming back.

His lips quirked up when he saw what she was wearing.

Dressed as a muggle, and yet, not… no, the clothes were old… at least, old-fashioned. She wore a black dress that covered her modestly to her well-toned mid-calf, and yet was form-fitting to emphasize her feminine shape and beautifully sculpted curves, the collar of the dress was raised high and russet colored to perfectly play off her features and coloring.

On her feet were heels the type his ex-wife would have worn… no, they were actually higher than Narcissa would have worn them, and if Lucius looked closely, he observed a stabilizing as well as cushioning charm placed on them as well.

A small black pillbox hat with a small veil perched rakishly upon her head at an angle to emphasize the curve of her jaw and large golden-hued eyes.

It was an outfit his ex-wife would have both admired and loathed—never being able to pull such an ensemble off with the grace and panache Miss Granger was doing.

And she looked positively stunning.

"Well, does this meet with your oh-so-expert approval?" She studiously ignored both Lucius and Severus's gaze, focusing on Potter solely. Slippery little minx; not even giving them a chance. Oh, but Lucius would set her veneer of indifference to crumbling and soon.

"M'eh," Potter shrugged and grinned, "I guess you'll do. Come on, I've been dreaming of Emiel's roasted potatoes for days. Remind me to tell you about the monsters' experience at the petting zoo in Darfur."

"Wow," she shook her head, "that's quite the segue."

"Oh, trust me. They're related." Potter took her arm in his and began escorting her down the stairs but stopped suddenly and looked back behind him up at them. "You both can't go out into the muggle world dressed like that."

"What are you now, the muggle fashion briggade?" Miss Granger asked, but Potter pointed his wand at them, and Lucius had a moment of slight panic. Anyone who had seen the things he'd seen, would've felt that way. But then he felt a wave of Potter's cool, impersonal magic sweep over him and his clothes transfigured themselves to muggle jeans and a t-shirt. Lucius looked down and grimaced in distaste.

Not satisfied, the wizard kept changing and changing his shirt, morphing the color and the style.

"Oh, Harry! Honestly, just stop!" Miss Granger pointed her wand at him, and Lucius felt the gentle sweeping of her magic trickle over him like a warm breeze. He looked down. His dated wizard's robes were now dated muggle togs of brown and cream. He wore a muggle suit minus the vest. Catching his reflection from the clock in the hall, he looked deucedly sharp.

She next pointed her wand at Severus and had his robes transforming themselves to a suit as well. Black of course, except he still kept his vest. Lucius's lips twitched as he watched Severus's hair being magically gathered back into a queue at his nape and magically tied with a transfigured black strip of leather.

He looked over to gauge the dark wizard's response, but Severus's face was carefully blank with only the slightest look of resignation in his eyes.

He was occluding strongly.

Finally, she turned her wand on her friend, and Potter held up his hands. "Hey, easy. I'm just here for the food. Consider me the designer and you three the talent."

"Ginny's had you watching 'Project Runway' again has she?" she asked as she flicked her wand, transfiguring Potter's jeans into tan slacks and his open-faced button-down shirt to a brown tweed suit-jacket, his plain t-shirt now a white button-down shirt opened at the neck.

For whatever strange reason known only to the two of them, she left his trainers exposed, lending him an incongruent and boyish appearance.

All-in-all, the witch had cast very fine spell-work over their motley gathering. And upon gaining the front stoop, Potter took Severus's arm, and apparated them away. Lucius smirked to himself.

"Shall we?" Miss Granger held out her arm for him to take, studiously not looking up at him.

"We shall in a moment, Miss Granger," Lucius began, "I would like to, however, offer my compliments on how exquisitely fetching you look, my dear."

She crossed her arms in front of her and shook her head. "You don't get to do that. Not when every word, every look you've ever given me is a direct insult, Mr. Malfoy. I still remember how you treated me when I first returned to Grimmauld."

He turned to face her. "Oh, but you have me judged incorrectly there, Miss Granger. I was and am genuinely in earnest."

He reached for her lowered chin to raise it, and suddenly her hands were clamped on his arm before he could even touch her face, and she was apparating them. Lucius prayed to Merlin he wasn't about to be splinched, and if he was, the girl would, no doubt, see it as his just desserts.

Perhaps, she would be correct.

They arrived in the alley with a 'CRACK', Lucius stumbling a bit, his proximity breaking hold due to shear momentum.

He did a quick scan: all fingers and all toes present and accounted for, nose and other protruding, dangly bits as well. Looking over, he spied both Potter and Severus had nearly identical looks of astonishment on their faces, but even as he watched, Severus's morphed to a smirk only Lucius could see.

Miss Granger was staring fixedly at the brick wall, her jaw clenched tight.

"All alright then, Hermione?" Potter asked uncertainly.

She nodded tersely.

Potter gallantly offered her his arm, and she took it, Severus and Lucius falling in step behind the younger man and witch.

' _ **You tried something, didn't you, and she showed you your place but neatly, did she not?'**_ Severus asked him amusedly via Legilimency as they trailed behind them.

' _ **A small setback, that is all,'**_ Lucius admitted, _**'I still have every confidence she will come around in time.'**_

Severus's only reply was a disdainful snort.

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They stepped up to a building that read, 'The Boys of Company 'B' ' in large calligraphic lettering, and Mr. Potter opened the door for them. Immediately, loud and boisterous brassy music could be heard, and Severus looked around, the place was an authentic throw-back to the time of muggle 1940's World War II.

Severus's father had been obsessed with the era, a collector of memorabilia from his time spent fighting defending Crown and Country from Nazi Occupation. He hadn't amounted to more than a Gunner in the Royal Artillery, but according to him, those were the best years of the old sot's life, and it was the time when he had been his most dashing; his pure-blooded mother having been taken with a man in uniform.

Potter told the woman seating them, "Tell Emiel Hermione's back." These words caused color to blossom on Miss Granger's face. Just who was this Emiel, and why in Merlin's name would this cause such a reaction in the witch? Severus watched as she buried her blushing head in her hands.

"Hermione's back! Hey, fellas, Hermione's back!" a voice suddenly shouted from the back of the restaurant. The band—the type of 'Big Band' era Swing— struck up a lively tune, and a group of muggle men all dressed in replicated WWII army-green outfits of the Crown began piling out of the kitchen, craning their necks to spot her, holding their hands to their eyes against the glare of the stage lamps.

They did, and as one, the group descended on their table singing loudly and boisterously a very suggestive song about, 'Polishing their rifles, and thinking of the girl they loved'. After kissing her cheek, one singer knelt before her and crooned, while two more surrounded her from behind, and then in a move of practiced ease, they drew the blushing witch by the arms and feet from behind the table and onto their shoulders, the rest of the diners now looking on with avid interest as they carried her away to place her on the bar top, all continuing to sing.

So many muggle men surrounded her, each of them giving her some kind of token—a kiss to the cheek, a pat to the shoulder, a hug. Severus felt a jealous pang hit him, but the witch, although embarrassed and blushing profusely, took it all in stride, and not for one moment, Severus could see, was she affected by the muggle men's flattering attentions, only shaking her head at their over-the-top antics.

He looked over to find Lucius watching her, his jaw clenched tight. Severus raised his eyebrows, and Lucius said mentally, **'** _ **It's not the girl I find disagreeable but the muggles pawing and salivating over her.'**_

The song ended to a rousing, shrill-whistling round of applause, especially led by the bespectacled wizard to Severus's right as the fellows escorted her back to her seat.

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It had been so long, so very long since she'd been back.

For seven years, she had worked here, putting herself through school, 'singing for her supper' as Emiel had said. Emiel, the loud, boisterous Italian-American immigrant to Britain had come out of the kitchen himself to take their order.

"Just soup and salad, Emiel," she told the man who was dressed in his fine muggle business suit. He'd always reminded her of her father: strict, sharp military-grade haircut and bearing, a no-nonsense attitude, the man ran a tight ship, save for those he considered his family.

And he considered her to be the daughter he never had.

"Okay, little bird. I'll bring you the lamb," his warm brown eyes twinkled down at her. "That is _if_ you can tell me two wines that would pair well with it?"

She shook her head and laughed. This was a running gag between the two of them. For a year, soup and salad had been what she'd ordered. However, once Emiel had surmised her situation… well, not that she was a witch, but that she was a student working her way through school and could sing passably in his club, he'd made it his mission to see her educated in the finer things of life—good food, good friends, and good song. And he knew the lamb was her favorite dish on his more than passably scrumptious menu. She answered readily enough, "The Cataldi Madonna or the Borgo Scopeto Chianti would pair just as well."

He nodded his head in approval. "Glad you still remember to what your first education disposed you. The Cataldi it shall be; I believe I have a fine 2004 I've been saving for just such a special occasion as my prodigal daughter's returning." He looked at her askance. "But you know, little bird, you are going to have to sing for this supper, yes? It's been too long since last you visited us, and you are very overdue."

"Oh, naturally," Harry piped in beside her, and she rolled her eyes at him, "We wouldn't have it any other way."

"And you, Mr. Harry," Emiel pointed his finger at him and waggled it, "you have not been by with that merry wife of yours and children in so long," he shook his head, "I believe they've all grown up and flew the nest by now."

"Not quite, Emiel; Lily's still in diapers," Harry answered dryly.

"And there you have it; I've yet to meet her. For shame on you. I should have you on stage performing with my little bird as well."

Hermione was gratified to see Harry pale slightly. "Not unless you want your customers to run screaming from the place, clutching at their bleeding ears," he answered with a self-deprecating smile.

For a moment, the Italian looked thoughtful, and then said, "You're right. It would be bad for business. Anyone else at the table I can wrangle into performing?" Hermione watched as he assessed both Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy considering, and then shook his head, "No, these two are far too stuffy and English. No soul for the softer things whatsoever," Emiel quickly dismissed them and looked back at her, and Harry gave a snort. "You'll be on, performing the anthem with the others in fifteen. I expect an encore to follow. So, be thinking, hmm?"

Once more, his warm, brown eyes twinkled down at her, and she nodded.

A moment after Emiel had left them, her drink arrived: a cosmopolitan, and she knocked it back.

"A little liquid courage?" Harry whispered to her, and she nodded, gaining her feet, and studiously not looking at the other two wizards in their party, she made her way backstage.

Harry and Ginny loved coming here—the anonymity of it, and Hermione loved it as well. Here, she was known by the moniker 'little bird', and not 'the Ice Queen' the Wizarding Press had dubbed , she was treated with kindness, dignity, and respect for who she was and for what she was capable.

It was jarring to think Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape were getting a glimpse of this part of her. She hadn't the best voice in the world, but Emiel loved it when she sang. With a decent dance partner, she could move, twirl and even 'swing' as it were, for the Boys of Company 'B' had insisted she learn how.

She made her way backstage, already seeing the three girls dressed in WWII women's dress greens complete with pencil skirt, and jacket including the stiff green caps and gold rankings on their lapels, warming up to prepare to sing the 'anthem' the club was named after, the American war-time rag by the Andrews sisters: 'Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy' which the lyrics had been slightly altered to fit the British Crown.

Hugs, kisses, and greetings soon followed all around; the vetted performer Giselle immediately wrangling her to the mirror and changing her rather sedate lipstick of nude to that of 'Company 'B'-approved garish red to match the other girls. Hermione joined in with their warm-up, automatically singing the descant as the girls then sat upon her to change her rather sedate and tamed bun at her nape to 'victory rolls'; the hairstyle that made glamour for the 1940's so legendary.

Six years of preparing herself for the footlights, six years of routine and stage makeup. How Lavender and Parvati would be surprised if they saw her now. She had developed an appreciation for looking nice and garnering an appreciative glance from the male of the species. She had learned from these very muggle girls how to primp and curl—without the use of magic— how to take care of herself, and keep up her appearance.

And as if her absence had never been, four sets of hands primped, prodded, straightened, re-curled, and sprayed her curly locks into place, all the while still singing their warm-up, and she took a moment to study her reflection once they were done.

A 1940's fashion-plate stared back at her almost unrecognizable to herself. It had been thusly each and every time she had taken to the stage. She looked every bit as pin-up worthy glamorous as the three uniformed ladies beside her.

The band stopped playing, and she heard Emiel announce them, and taking a deep breath for courage, Hermione gathered her composure to face the waiting crowd.

And then she was on.

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.

Thus far, Lucius was moderately impressed with his surroundings.

The atmosphere of this… club was festive and its tone uplifting and hopeful. He could definitely do with more of this type of entertainment in his life… even if he was surrounded by a cluster of muggles. However, that was comforting in its own right. Severus and he had talked about, once they got their wands and stipends, going to leave the United Kingdom for the world beyond.

Even though they were exonerated, wizarding sentiment was still against them, and both wizards thought it best to adopt a life of anonymity. It had occurred to Severus but not to him to turn to the muggle world for anonymity's grace. And truthfully, Lucius was comforted by still remaining in the country of his birth but being unknown. Yes, there was definitely something appealing to this… this muggle side of things.

He took a sip of his truly delicious scotch served neat, and waited with anticipation for the moment when Miss Granger would take the stage.

He didn't care for being labeled as 'too stuffy and English' by the Italian, but he definitely supposed the moniker could apply. At least, the man he'd been forced to become over the last three decades or so. Not that he could see himself on stage, dancing for these muggles' entertainment. Good gods, no! But, there was something to the music and festive air, and he liked it considerably.

Lucius watched, intrigued, as the man that had been so familiar with Miss Granger, this Emiel muggle fellow, took the stage after the brass band finished its number. There was a yellow bond of love linking the two of them. This Emiel-fellow had adopted her; Lucius could tell.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to proudly present the Company 'B' female officers performing our anthem with special guest, our very own little song bird, Hermione Granger who has agreed to graciously lend her considerable talent to us for a song or two. And so, without further ado, ladies take it away."

The curtain raised right as a bugle began playing.

This wasn't the muggle 'God Save the Queen' that Lucius had been expecting but a jauntier number. Four girls stepped forward at once and crowded around the muggle sound amplifying device, each in uniform dress save one, and all four looked alluringly fetching. But it was easy to pick Miss Granger out from the four of them, and not because she was the only one not in costume.

No, _she_ was the most ravishing one of them all.

She had let down her hair, and it fell in soft, gentle waves around her face and upraised collar. And her lipstick, though matching the other girls, Lucius decided then and there, there wasn't a more tempting shade of red in all the world.

And then she began to sing:

'He was a famous trumpet-man from out of Wexford way…'

Her sweet voice blending in harmoniously with the other three, their small dance movements, syncopated with one another—it was easy to see she had done this ever so many times before, and yet, she was enjoying herself immensely, her joy spreading throughout the crowd was as palpable for him to see as it was contagious to the other patrons to watch.

The rousing, patriotic song ended with a salute, and the four girls hugged one another tightly, laughing and taking their bows. The three girls pushed Miss Granger forward on the stage, and the applause magnified, Severus and Lucius adding to its volume considerably as she took another bow, this time by herself.

"Encore!" a voice shouted from the bar and was seconded by several more in the room; the applause again renewing. The other three ladies kissed her airily on the cheeks, and returned behind the stage, as Miss Granger, again taking another bow, nodded to the audience and made her way over to where the piano stood.

She leaned over the piano to whisper in the piano players' ear, and Lucius felt a spark of jealousy again ignite within him. No one, not one of the men he had encountered tonight had slept with her, but many were attracted to her… a few even loved her…unrequited, but still… woe be to the poor muggle whom he did find that crossed him in his pursuit of her… after all, their little lives were so very fragile.

A tinkling of the keys as the pianist began to play, and she began to sing.

Lucius heard Severus beside him softly gasp. And perhaps his brother was holding his breath just as Lucius was doing in order not to miss a single, sultry note. The song was of a couple parted—probably due to war-time as that seemed to be the running theme at this establishment— and Miss Granger was composing a letter to her absentee husband, the words, 'P.S. I love you,' reiterated throughout.

She was dutifully reporting news on the home front and garnered a chuckle or two when she, wide-eyed, confessed she 'burned a hole in the dining-room table', as well as an endearing smile when she said she was going to have to 'buy a new set of dishes, or else wash the ones piled up in the sink'.

With an admission that every day her husband was away felt like a year, and a confession that she dreamt of him nightly, the song concluded. Ms. Granger ended by once more singing, 'P.S. I love you'. And the moment the last note finished, there was resounding applause.

Clapping, Potter screamed over the noise towards them, continuing to watch Miss Granger as she took her bows, "She's incredible, isn't she?"

If Severus was in any state like him, he knew the both of them had thunder-stricken expressions on their faces. Blinking, Severus looked to him and said via legilimency," _ **Incredible doesn't begin... Exquisite, enchanting**_."

Lucius nodded once in agreement, and whispered in Severus' ear, "Captivating, alluring. Yes, brother, I quite agree."

Once more, the muggle Emiel took to the stage, and kissing Miss Granger on both cheeks, sent her off backstage; the audience still clapping for her.

She gave a small wave, and to their cheering, departed.

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Hermione's pulse still thundered as she walked back to her seat; all three wizards stood to their feet when she approached. Intermission had been called while she'd been backstage, and the pianist of the band quietly continued to play, the lights brought up just slightly.

"Where, Miss Granger, did you learn to do that?" Lucius Malfoy asked her once she had regained her seat.

She toyed with the stem of her wine glass and contemplated how much she wanted to say.

Harry proudly answered for her, "Hermione knows how to play the piano, but she didn't start singing until she started working here at the club." He leaned over and jostled her with his shoulder, "You want to tell them, or should I?"

"Please, let Miss Granger," Professor Snape grated, and she looked up questioningly, meeting his dark eyes. "It is _your_ story after all," he ended on a whisper.

She quickly looked back down at her lap, uncertain as to just what she had seen in her professor's eyes. She gave a small smile and said dryly, "I do believe this is the first time you've ever prompted me to voluntarily speak, sir." She shrugged, "Incidentally, there's not much to tell. After the war, when I decided to pursue my law degree, I got a job waitressing here to put myself through university. A waitress was all I was at first. For the first year or so, but then Emiel heard me singing softly along with one of the songs the other girls were performing when I was backstage, and he immediately brought me onstage and made me sing it right then and there." She smiled softly at the memory and looked up at them. "And the rest is history."

"Complements of Mr. Fendon at the bar, 'Mi," Felicia, the club's bartender, came up to them bearing a tray with a single cosmopolitan. "I told him you weren't to be bothered, but he insisted on 'rewarding his song bird'." Felicia rolled her eyes and grinned at her, "His corny words, not mine."

Hermione looked from Felicia to the very handsome salt and pepper-haired man at the bar and smiled widely. He was one of her regulars from her time spent serving. Taking the drink from Felicia, she saluted him with it and took a sip. He nodded and turned back around. The owner of a leading architectural firm in London, Mr. Fendon and she'd had many an intelligent conversation.

And in fact, there had been a time when she'd considered taking him as her lover once long ago.

She considered, but ultimately, decided against it; if anything had developed, then she would've had to tell him she was a witch, and that was a secret she'd vowed never to share with a muggle.

"And just who was that?" Mr. Malfoy asked tightly, his tone causing her to look up startled. He had an affable smile on his lips, his face devoid of any other expression, but his eyes were cold and hard as he looked at her. There was a sudden thud from underneath that jostled the table, and Mr. Malfoy grimaced as if in pain. "I am, after all, just curious, my dear."

"A regular at the club," she heard herself defend. "He knew me back during my serving days. He's very knowledgeable on neo-classic sculpture and contemporary architecture," she ended weakly as she looked around. Just where the hell was their food? All she wanted was to eat and then go back to Grimmauld.

Thank God she saw their server come bearing a tray towards them.

"And do these things interest you?" Mr. Malfoy asked solicitously, with a bit more warmth to his voice. "Muggle sculpture and architecture?"

She still refused to look at him.

"There's not a subject under the sun that doesn't interest Hermione, Lucius… well, besides Quidditch," Harry related, cutting into his rack of lamb; it seemed the entire table had unanimously ordered it with various different sides. "What was it your Chinese fortune said once, 'you are incurably curious and insatiable of appetite."

Taking a sip of the wine she had chosen to pair with the lamb, Professor Snape nodded to her in appreciation for the pairing, and said softly, "That is dangerous. Very dangerous, Miss Granger. The old parable of Pandora and her box springs to mind."

She felt herself blush not only under his regard but Mr. Malfoy's as well, and not liking the turn the conversation had taken, especially centered as it was on herself, she decided a change of subject was in order.

Taking a sip of wine, she smiled cheerfully up at Harry, and said, "So tell me all about your adventures abroad."

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A/N: Psst! Reviews are a 'P.S. I love you' to the authoress.


	5. The Myth of Cassandra

Ch. 5 – The Myth of Cassandra

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Severus watched as the witch, clad once more in her dowdy robes, left again early in the morning.

Potter had quit them soon after they finished their meal and returned them to Grimmauld Place. At Lucius's insistence, Potter had apparated both him and Lucius, leaving Miss Granger to apparate herself. She had arrived a few minutes later.

The bill had been paid in full— she had literally sang for their supper. And a wonderful supper it had been even if Miss Granger's company had left something to be desired.

The girl was still so very reticent towards them, and though Severus couldn't blame her as his behavior upon their arrival at the house as well as a prisoner when she came to visit him in Azkaban had been boorish bordering on offensive, he needed her to know he'd since had a change of heart towards her, and he didn't use those words lightly.

Gods, but the songs she'd sung!

How Severus wished he'd had her to sing that last song to him during his time as a spy.

As a child, she hadn't taken part in the traditional fripperies and adolescent pangs her peers had, and as a young adult, she had appeared much as the child. But how she had blossomed and truly come into her own during the years since thanks to that place.

That place that was so much a haven for her; as plain as the nose on Severus's face, he could see that with friendships and familial ties every bit as strong as she shared with Potter.

Once more, she arrived red-faced and breathless and stood below the window where he kept his silent vigil, her outfit soaked with perspiration. However, her hair kept its plait, but barely. His body reacted viscerally to the sight of her, but he was unprepared for the tugging at his heart.

Should he truly be surprised though? Truly?

For him, love and desire had always been closely intertwined, and rarely had he been able to divest himself of the act of love in order to perform the perfunctory act of sex. Over the weeks of observing her, Severus had begun to love her, in incremental doses, and was learning to do so more each and every day.

It was easy to love Hermione Jean Granger, but it was hell getting close to her.

Severus made his way to the kitchen and finished his preparations for her breakfast, and he dearly hoped she would stick to pattern. Since the elf was gone, he was taking it upon himself to care for her meals… well, those she didn't cook herself, and so, he hoped to have more interaction with her.

Hearing the door open and her quiet footfalls, he remained silent as well until she stepped into the kitchen, and he began separating eggs.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he rasped calmly, not looking up from his egg preparation.

"P-professor Snape," she said in surprise, backing up a step.

He quickly looked up and then back down again. Her color was high, her eyes wide, and her arms were crossed in front of her chest in an immediate protective stance.

"There's juice on the table. Have a seat, breakfast will be finished shortly," he clipped, wishing his voice would allow him more latitude concerning syntax. Because of his vocal limitations, his already caustic -sounding voice virtually barked words or whispered them faintly. And there were days where he could barely get a voiced word out.

"I—errm, Professor, I don't think—"

He looked up at her and met her gaze, his own not looking anywhere but her eyes, "I have asked you once before not to call me that." She flinched at his rasping tone and backed up a step, ready to bolt before he could finish speaking with his broken voice. He mentally rolled his eyes at his own limitations and maintaining her eye contact said via Legilimency, _**'Forgive me, Miss Granger. Losing my voice as I've done makes me seem even more acerbic than I already am.'**_

Her eyes widened as his words appeared in her mind, but licking her lips, she nodded, and he continued, _**'As I was trying to say without much success, I am no longer your professor, Miss Granger, and would feel most at ease if you called me 'Severus'. If this is too informal than Mr. Snape will do.' Now, please see to your juice on the table.'**_ He gestured behind her, _**'And have a seat. Your breakfast will be finished soon.'**_

"And what of 'Master Snape'?" she asked, as she did as he bid and sat at the table watching him cook for her.

"I am no longer 'Master' of anything, at least, not yet," he ground, plating the egg-white omelet he prepared and adding a piece of fruit and another goblet-full of chilled water to what he would bring to her.

"But you will be," she said with certainty as he sat her plate and cup in front of her and sat at the bench across from where she sat, sipping on his coffee.

'Your continued faith in the Ministry astounds me, Miss Granger,' he rasped dryly as he watched her dig in.

"Your lack of faith continues to astound me. And…" she held up a forkful of egg to her lips and chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed, "you are master of your destiny, captain of your fate… at least now that you are free. That has to count for something… so 'Master Snape' it shall be," she dimpled at him and saluted him with her goblet of water. "By the way, was it you who made my breakfast the other morning when I came back from dance class?"

"Dance classes?" Severus asked, intrigued, "Is that where you go? What kind?" he asked, cursing himself for his enthusiasm. He sounded like a lovelorn Hufflepuff on a first date. Gods, help him!

"Lyrical Dance." She took a sip of juice and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. Thank gods, she hadn't noticed. "It's a mixture of ballet and street moves, but sometimes it's freestyle. Really, the class is so informal; you just…" she shrugged, "do what you feel. And it _is_ fun. But you didn't answer my question; did you make my breakfast the other morning?"

"I did; do you think you would have enjoyed taking a subject like this dance-class while at Hogwarts?" he whispered, his goal to keeping her talking about herself and the focus away from him. But if there was one thing he underestimated, it was the girl's tenacity.

"As a student, I probably would have found it a colossal waste of time," she smirked, "It's amazing how perspective shifts as you get older, but again I ask, why did you make me breakfast before? And today as well?"

Severus couldn't help it; he rolled his eyes at her, and said via Legilimency, _**'Because you are a hungry witch in need of nourishment, and we are elf-less. Because last week, when I saw you gobble up a single slice of toast and call yourself 'fed', I knew something had to be done. Because someone has to take the time to care for your physical needs if you do not.'**_

Her eyes widened at the last, and she gulped.

In replaying what he said in his mind, his eyes widened as well when he realized the suggestive overtones of his mental phrasing. That was one of the drawbacks of using this form of communication. Very little editing occurred between thought and 'speech'. And Severus, never one to guard his tongue when speaking his mind at the best of times, found it even more difficult to do so with the witch now seated before him.

However, instead of apologizing for the ribald, misconstrued potential of his words, he let them stand.

She would know his intentions toward her soon enough, and if what he said got her thinking about him in that light, then all the better for him.

"So, ahem… Master Snape, what are your plans for today?" She sounded genuinely curious.

His lips twitched, as he thought to her, _**'You mean other than scouring the Potters' mediocre library, searching for a volume I haven't yet read?'**_

She winced, "It is pretty… pedestrian, is it not? Well, the books that are Harry's. Most of the Black's reading material is entirely unsuitable for casual viewing, at least not without a wand. And I love Harry and Ginny dearly, but neither are too keen on the written word."

"I remember," he rasped, giving her a dry look. "Gods help their progeny."

She smiled, "Your namesake actually enjoys reading very much, and quite honestly, I won't be surprised if the child is sorted either into Ravenclaw or Slytherin. And only time will tell with little Lily Luna."

"And their eldest?" Severus inquired, careful not to speak the boy's name. He had long since made his peace with both James Potter and Sirius Black, but that didn't stop him from a feeling of initial loathing, not towards the child, but the names themselves.

"James Sirius is like his namesakes as well," she smirked up at him. "He's a handful and is destined to break the heart of many a witch, I'm certain." She rose from the table, and using a few cleansing spells, had the kitchen looking spotless and pristine again in seconds, putting her now clean plate and goblets away.

Severus stood as well and faced her.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining softly with their golden hue, "Thank you very much for breakfast, Severus. I do have my collection of books upstairs in my bag if you'd like to take a look?" she offered. "I'm not promising you'll find anything of merit or worth, but… I _can_ promise it's better than _Kitchen Witch Monthly_."

The both of them visibly winced at that.

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Granger," he whispered, feeling more of that buoying lightness of spirit she seemed to inspire within him.

Biting her lip, and obviously debating with herself for just a moment, she looked up at him and said, "If I am to call you 'Severus', then I insist you call me 'Hermione'. That is _if_ we are to move past the roles of which our first impressions disposed us?"

Severus quirked a small smile, and taking a step towards her, whispered, "Just so, Hermione. Just so."

"What's this? Have I overslept and missed breakfast?" Severus saw Hermione jump and turn to look at the kitchen entrance, a palpable pall of guarded isolation coming over her even as he watched. She blushed and once more put her hands around her chest protectively.

He looked over to find Lucius looking her up and down assessing her clothing; the blond wizard's eyebrows were raised.

And just like that, they were back to square one.

"Thanks again for breakfast," she said stiffly, her eyes now guarded and averted.

She turned to leave, darting past Lucius, and Severus called after her, "I'll be up for the books." His voice broke and he knew she hadn't heard him as she was already headed up the stairs.

He gave Lucius a look of undisguised disgust.

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If there was one thing Lucius Malfoy hated more, it was being outdone.

And Severus had just done so at bringing the delightful Miss Granger out from her flinty shell.

Three more days, and the journal would be duplicated. And then he could work on 'mending his fences' with her as it were.

But in the next three days, both Severus and the girl could form an attachment, a bond, and then where would that leave him?

It had been no coincidence Lucius had interrupted them when he had. He had been listening almost from the moment she finished her first bite, and the fact she used Severus's first name and asked him to reciprocate was telling indeed.

Upon her agenda today was a two o'clock meeting with her advisor for her dissertation, and she was purportedly to meet with him by 'floo'.

At five minutes 'til, Lucius very _graciously_ knocked on her door to remind her of it.

"Miss Granger?"

The door opened a crack and one golden eye peeked out, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I just wanted to remind you of your two o'clock meeting with your advisor via 'floo' to discuss your dissertation."

The golden eye widened, and he heard her gasp, "Oh, shite! That's today?"

Her door was flung wide open, and Lucius watched, amused, as she ran hither and thither, gathering papers and murmuring to herself.

And he was quickly learning that a flustered Miss Granger was one whose defenses were down.

She rushed out of her room with a minute to spare, and Lucius followed her to the study where Severus was already seated, reading.

She paid them no mind as the fireplace crackled right as she sat down before the hearth on hastily transfigured poof, and a head appeared through the flames.

Immediately, Lucius recognized the poofter—Alec Derwinn, one of the top leading criminal defense barristers for the Wizarding World—and also a muggle-born.

Had his conviction been in question, Lucius would have considered hiring him—even with the barrister's blood status, perhaps _because_ of his blood status— but Lucius wasn't given the choice. He was sent directly to prison based solely on the evidence of his Dark Mark alone. The only marked Death Eaters to fully escape widespread conviction had been the younger witches and wizards—Draco's generation—that had their Marks put in place when they were still minors. And even then, a few of them—Draco not among them, thank Merlin for that—were still convicted and sentenced to life without parole.

However, they'd had a trial before the Wizengamot and their dark deeds brought to light by 'Priori Incantatem'.

Draco had always kept his nose and his wand clean; Lucius had made sure of it because he knew just such an eventuality as that would occur one day… whether he was there to witness it or no.

Lucius was somewhat proud to say, that, at least in this, the boy had listened.

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"What the hell are you wearing, Granger? You look like my Aunt Agnes."

Hermione sat down on her hastily transfigured poof and quickly grabbed the case-study the three of them had been working on.

"You're still beautiful!" she heard Grieg yell from the back of the 'floo'.

"Give it up, Chesterfield! She's not interested! You're not, are you?" her adviser Alec Derwinn asked her. "I mean, I think you could do way better, Granger. OW!" A second head poked itself into the fire, forcing Alec to make room.

"Hello, gorgeous! Yowza! You make even his Aunt Agnes's robes look good!" Grieg gave a wolf-whistle and began to heavy pant. Grieg, like her, was another defense barrister-in training, equivalent to a muggle graduate student. He had been in Hufflepuff, two years above her in school, and was studying body-language, tone of voice, and facial expression in order to better gauge when someone was withholding the truth. He'd already taken the Bar, and was a practicing attorney, but was still 'learning the ropes' as it were.

"Quiet, you," Alec, a muggle-born like her, but of Ravenclaw and almost two decades out of school, did a fair imitation of Mr. Peabody, "Now, let's talk shop. I looked over your notes for the Levianthon trial, and this is why I'm so glad you're not going into prosecution, Granger! Gods! You'd have him convicted and Kissed before tea!"

She winced, and said, "His personality does kind of… errm, lend itself to a guilty verdict, and the evidence—though circumstantial, is overwhelming."

Alec snapped his fingers and pointed at her, "Exactly. You know, I took Levianthon as a client because I'm t'eed off! The evidence is damning, but it was the victim's family who submitted it to the Aurors. This is unacceptable, and the only reason they are getting away with it is because of their wealth and political standing."

He adjusted his glasses and continued, "Now, the problem with this case has always been the rich will think they won't need to go to the Aurors anymore. They're going to get their own lawyers to collect evidence, and then they are going to choose which evidence they feel like passing on to the Ministry. And the next victim to be accused isn't going to be rich like Levianthon—but is going to be some poor bastard from Liverpool who can't afford, or who can't find, a decent barrister."

"So… the only way we're going to win is if we knock out each of the prosecution's 'so-called' pieces of evidence one at a time," Grieg continued, "But that's going to be difficult to do when they won't divulge much of what they've got until the trial."

Hermione nodded, "From the evidence already gathered, I tried to make the strongest case I could for the prosecution. The case isn't sealed air-tight, but I think, perhaps, the only way you're going to win is through appeal. The court of public opinion has already convicted him. The Wizengamot will be hard-pressed not to follow suit."

"Well… we've already begun the pre-emptive groundwork for the appeal." Alec shook his head, "You know, this case reminds me a bit of my 'Lord Voldemort dream'."

Hermione and Grieg looked at their mentor strangely, and Alec shrugged, continuing, "When I first decided to become a barrister for the defense, I had to reconcile myself with the fact that everyone, no matter how culpable, deserved to be defended, so, I thought of what would happen if Lord Voldemort came knocking on my door, requesting my services to defend him. I'd have to decide do I take the case, or do I kill him?"

"Oh, you?" Grieg asked. "No question."

"I'd take the case," Alec nodded.

Smiling, Hermione responded, "Then kill him."

The three chuckled and talked a bit more about the case, but during a lull, Grieg narrowed his eyes and asked her, "Here's a little thought experiment for you, Granger, with yourself being muggle-born as well, how would _you_ defend Voldemort if he came knocking on your door?"

"Fairly easily, actually," Hermione answered, and both Alec and Grieg looked at her disbelieving. She shrugged, and continuing looking down at her notes, said. "He was rendered _non compos mentis_ at conception. Love potion," she explained, "Voldemort was conceived under the effects of love potion thus rendering him sociopathically insane. Case closed."

The two looked at her speechless, their eyes going wide.

She looked up. "Are you both surprised because I put the two together, or are you surprised because you didn't know that? Surely you two have read one or two of the numerous biographies out there concerning him?"

Again, she received blank stares.

"Philistines the lot." She shook her head. "Alright, so I'd defend him, probably get him a nice, cushy cell in the lower bowels of St. Mungo's for my trouble, but… I, like Alec, would most definitely have to kill him. There's no way the snake-headed bastard would deserve to get off with a plea of insanity, _but_ … I'd still be proving—"

"Everyone deserves a defense," the two chimed unenthusiastically together, both shaking their heads at her.

"You're a piece of work, you know that, Granger?" Alec told her, gesturing he'd be back in a moment with her dissertation.

"A piece of art, you mean," Grieg called behind his shoulder, "Botticelli's _Venus_ , Da Vinci's _Mona Lisa_ , _The Rape of the Sabine Women_ …"

She laughed despite herself and shook her head, "Grieg, did you run out of hackneyed works of muggle art in which to compare my dubious charms or was that a thinly veiled threat?"

"Here, now!" Grieg hedged, smiling slightly with his boyish charm. "I'll have you know I took a whole course on muggle art history once way back in my university days…"

"A whole course," she said with wide-eyed innocence, "why, that must make you an expert in the field!"

"Hmm, yes. I've taught many classes on the subject since as well as have my own work displayed to much international acclaim." Grieg affected a simpering air exactly like Gilderoy Lockhart had been wont to do. 'For full details…"

"—see my published works," she finished with him and smiled over the old saw. "But yes," she cleared her throat and got back to business at hand, "the holes in the argument are coming down to exact timing. It seems to me, if you have proof Levianthon wasn't there, then you're going to have to divulge exculpatory evidence to that effect." She gave him a pointed look. "Otherwise you're going to have to wait until the appeal."

"But Granger, he has a good reason—a really good reason— for not divulging," Grieg bemoaned.

She shot him a dry look. "Uh-huh, don't they all? If he hopes to walk out a free man instead of being led away in chains, he's going to have to come clean. And the Wiz doesn't take too kindly to the defense withholding evidence, no matter the reason, Grieg. These are the times we live in; you know as well as I."

"Yes, practicing law in the Post-Voldemort Wizarding World. Do something about that, won't you, when you begin whispering in the Wiz's ear, hmm?"

"Reminds me of the myth of the Greek Goddess Cassandra," she said absently as she looked back over her notes of his case-study to see if she missed anything.

She hadn't.

Alec poked his head back in the fire to look at Grieg, "Hear that, Chesterfield? Yet another piece of muggle art for you to beautify in comparison to Granger's charms." He passed her revised dissertation back to her in a fire-proof sleeve.

"Never heard of 'er," Grieg shrugged, as Alec turned away from the fire once more. She could hear her mentor shouting at someone in the background which was not an unusual occurrence.

"Again, Philistines," she murmured to no one in particular, handing Grieg back his case-study in a fire-proofed sleeve as well with her notes written in the margins.

"Hey, that goes for Chesterfield, Granger. Not me," Alec spoke up, once more poking his head through the fire, " _I_ know the story of Cassandra. She was the truth-sayer who spoke the truth each day to those who refused to listen, _and_ whose ears were licked clean each night by snakes while she slept so she _could_ hear the truth."

"Ten points to 'Ravenclaw', Mr. Derwinn," Severus grated dryly from the couch seat.

Startled, Hermione turned around.

Both Severus and Mr. Malfoy were seated on the couch and had been listening in, it seemed, for quite some time. Well, she could do nothing about it now as the meeting was almost concluded.

"Merlin, Snape! Give a guy a heart-attack why don't you?" Grieg said. "Seven years out of school, and you still scare the bloody hell out of me." Grieg looked back at her and smiled. "Caught me neckin' in the fourth floor conservatory, he did, Granger, m'love."

"Oh, really?" she asked distractedly as she thumbed through the suggested revisions to her dissertation Alec had made. There was a spot in the margins, and with his chicken-scratch writing, she couldn't tell if it was an ink-stain or a critique.

"Yes, a pitiful, groping attempt, as I recall, with all the grace of Devil's Snare going after its prey," Severus whispered acidly from behind her; his proximity caused her to look up and over her shoulder. He had moved until he was kneeling behind her, and Hermione could feel the warmth from his body as well as the heavy fabric of his robes brushing against her back.

However, he was staring—scowling—at the fire and at Grieg in particular.

Grieg smiled winningly, addressing her, "Granger, love, you should know, my technique has improved significantly since then."

"Doubtful, Mr. Chesterfield," Snape whispered silkily, in a tone reminiscent of his undamaged voice, "that is, unless you've learned how not to inflict your rather _small and inadequate_ _technique_ on the female of the species."

Hermione's eyebrows rose to her hairline, and Grieg's mouth actually opened to an 'O' of shock before he clamped down and looked at Severus like he could kill him. Oh, yes, if looks could kill, Severus Snape would be six feet deep.

She looked over her shoulder at Severus to find he had leaned forward a bit more and was actually quite near her left ear. His onyx eyes held a note of triumph.

"Ah, that Severus Snape, 'eh? Always good for a laugh," Alec said tightly beside Grieg, giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder.

Grieg narrowed his eyes and looked up at her, "Remind me, why it was you fought so hard to free this bastard, again?"

Trying to defuse the situation, she drew a deep, calming breath, and said in her most insufferably 'Know-It-All' voice, "Because 'everybody—"

"—deserves a defense," both Alec and Grieg finished with her, shaking their heads.

"Well on that note, gang, I'm going to sign off. Granger, get back to me with your corrections. We'll meet again, same time, same day next month." Alec waved goodbye to them all and was gone.

"Yeesh, Hermione." Grieg rubbed the back of his neck disregarding Severus still at her side entirely. "This good-will streak of yours is going to be the death of many an old fart on the Council. You know that, right? You'll have them pleadin' apoplexy just to avoid meeting with you."

She sighed and scrubbed at her eyes tiredly, "I know what I face, Grieg. Please, don't remind me." Drawn to Severus's nearness, she leaned back slightly, his proximity a balm of sorts.

"Miss Granger will be most equipped to handle the Council. I'll make certain of it… Mr. Chesterfield, was it?" Mr. Malfoy inquired from her other side, and Hermione turned her head and looked over at him.

"Merlin, 'Mi. You've got Malfoy _Senior_ there too?" Grieg asked her in disbelief.

"Roommates," Hermione said thickly as she watched Mr. Malfoy kneel behind her right shoulder. "Harry and Ginny have been very gracious while I finish my degree and things get sorted by the Ministry for both Master Snape's and Mr. Malfoy's estates." She could feel Mr. Malfoy's presence behind her as well, his hand coming to rest upon her mid-back.

Her eyes widened.

"Talk about snakes whispering in your ears," Grieg mumbled, a note of jealousy in his voice.

Hermione paled. "It's not like _that_! Good God, Grieg!" she stated in disbelief.

"Yeah, 'Mi… uh-huh," he said, "Body language… I'm studying it, remember? The two huddled beside you say very differently; you just have to look at their expressions and proximity to you to see it."

She quickly looked to one to the other of the wizards beside her, who in turn looked down at her. Both had nearly identical blank expressions of cluelessness about them.

Turning back to Grieg, she shrugged and shook her head, mystified at what he saw.

Grieg suddenly startled, his shocked face disappearing from the floo. She heard his disembodied voice say, "Alright, that's it! They're both starting to freak me out... We'll begin groundwork for an appeal. I'll work with Alec on it and see you next month. Just… next time, leave your pet snakes out of it, alright?"

He disconnected the 'floo' before she could form a rebuttal.

"Was it something we said?" Mr. Malfoy asked her calmly, his hand still solicitously placed upon her back.

"No, Lucius," Severus whispered lowly beside her, his mouth still very close to her ear, "if you'll remember, Miss Granger's Greek counterpart Cassandra wasn't to be believed either, no matter what truths she would espouse. The puling whelp obviously didn't make the correlation."

"Obviously," Mr. Malfoy replied, and Hermione gulped, turning her head from the one to the other of them and feeling slightly trapped by their proximity. Mr. Malfoy looked over at her and smiled pleasantly, and the pressure of his hand at her back increased the slightest bit, but then he was rising from the floor, as was Severus, and as one, they both reached down to offer her their hands to aid her in rising as well.

After a moment's hesitation she took them, and they lifted her effortlessly to her feet.

"Well, it is of no matter, my dear," Mr. Malfoy continued, "we three know the truth of such things, do we not?"

"Even if the puling whelp thinks otherwise," Severus whispered.

Hermione took a step away from them feeling very much out of her depth and longing for the safety of her room.

Mr. Malfoy looked down at her and met her eyes, his stare inquiring, "Might I ask what you're doing your dissertation on, Miss Granger?"

"House-elf rights," she said a bit defensively.

Contrary to how she had expected him to react, Mr. Malfoy's eyes softened the slightest bit towards her. "As a former owner of them, I would very much like to read your argument and offer another point of view if I may?"

She bit her lip. "Actually, I would love to know what you think if you wouldn't mind? I mean, even if you do tear it apart; at least I'll be better prepared knowing what I'm facing, especially from those with opinions like yours."

He smiled softly, his pale blue eyes gleaming with approval. "Quite."

Again biting her lip, she handed him her dissertation and looked up at him uncertainly. She was giving him exactly what he wanted, a way to splay her open and eviscerate her, she knew, but it needed to be done. Knowing this man's worst could only serve to strengthen her argument more.

With a sigh of resignation, she turned and walked from the room.

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A/N: Slowly, yet slowly they are beguiling the little Gryffindor from her hiding place. A deft hand, the lightest of touches… both are realizing this is what's required.

What say you, reader? Are our two snakes becoming worthy of our Cassandra? Please leave a review and tell me what you think.

-k


	6. The Potioneer

A/N:

Oh, my goodness! The holidays are over, and I'm finally able to get back to my writing. I hope everyone had a good break. I'll try to post updates more regularly, and gasp! I might even be able to respond to a review or two. Thank you so much for reading my little tale, and I hope you enjoy.

-K

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Ch. 6— The Potioneer

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Severus had to wait two days more before he could secrete himself in the shadowed corner of the kitchen while she cooked. He didn't have time to switch the pillows tonight, but he figured he could do so when she next went to dance class with no one the wiser in a day or two.

Late in the evening, he watched from his shadowed nook when she bustled into the room carrying an armful of groceries, and immediately threw up wards and a 'muffliato' spell. Drawing out her muggle cellular, she tapped it with her wand, and loud, raucous music began magnifying loudly around the stone-enclosed space.

She changed the song to one that was guitar-based and lively, and immediately set to work un-bagging and organizing her ingredients, kicking off her shoes in the process so that she was bare-footed on the stone floor. Her hips swayed side to side as she chopped, diced, peeled, and mixed, and Severus didn't even bother trying to stop his body's natural reaction to such a sight.

Meanwhile, the song, for some strange reason about a train and obviously muggle, continued to play, and he heard the lyrics, " _Without love, where would you be now?"_

However, soon the song ended and another took its place, one more sultry, and he was proud to say he recognized the song from his youth, but not the singer. _"Layla, you got me on my knees. Beggin' darlin' please,"_ she sang along with this as she folded a mixture of raw egg, cheese, and some kind of spiced sausage into little pockets of dough and crimping the corners with the tines of a fork, began setting them aside. It was some kind of pasta, and she boiled them a batch at a time, setting them under stasis once she was through.

She then began building a base for a sauce, a fresh-ingredient marinara, adding what she'd already chopped as well as various spices and a healthy dose of white wine to simmering. The kitchen was starting to smell heavenly while the song changed yet again, and she lent her full voice to singing along with the female singer:

' _You're no good, you're no good, you're no good. Baby, you're no good.'_

And her hips swaying to the rhythm as she bounced and gyrated around the stove, dipping that finger into the sauce and bringing it to her lips to taste; oh, Severus needed to gain control of himself immediately!

Right at the song's interlude, she tilted the pan so that the flame kissed it and set the lot to flambé, burning off the residual alcohol and expertly tossing the sauce. Not missing a beat, she sang the final stanza, and the words gave Severus chills:

' _I'm telling you now, baby, that I'm goin' my way. Forget about me, baby, 'cause I'm leaving this day!'_

Yes, this was what was at stake was it not? If she were to catch him here, if she were to leave this house without Severus making his feelings known to her.

The song changed yet again, and she individually plated three servings of pasta and salad and began cleaning up.

This song was much of a much slower and gentler pace, though still guitar-based, and as she stood near the sink, he heard the words:

' _Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say,'_ fill the room as he watched her magically clean up her cooking dishes, and stand swaying side to side, lost in music's melody. _'Just like children sleepin', we could dream this night away.'_

His pulse thrumming triple-time, Severus drew a breath for courage, and silently crept out from his corner to come stand behind her. Her wand was on the counter beside her, and peering into the glass above the sink, he saw her eyes were closed as she silently swayed back and forth to the lilting, gentle melody. He would have to time his request and whisper _just right_ in order not to alarm the spellbound witch.

Waiting for a lull in lyric with his heart in his throat, Severus bent down and whispered softly, "May I have this dance, Hermione?"

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Hermione loved Neil Young's 'Harvest Moon'; loved the imagery and the sweetness of it. It was easy to get lost in the picture the singer was painting, and closing her eyes, she did so, letting the rhythm carry her away.

' _But there's a full-moon rising, let's go dancing in the light.'_

"May I have this dance, Hermione?" a voice whispered gently in her ear, and unsure if she'd heard correctly or not, she opened her eyes and looked behind her.

Severus Snape, having shed his billowing wizard's robes, stood before her in white shirt sleeves, trousers, and vest.

He was also as barefoot as she.

Already caught in the surreal spell of the music, Hermione turned around and faced him; his arms held out for her to step into.

Tentatively meeting his gaze, she nodded and saw a measure of relief appear over his sharp features as his arms came around to hold her, drawing her closer. A realization pierced the foggy, surreal part of her thoughts at that moment: this man wanted her, wanted to make her his.

Severus Snape wanted to make love to her.

Her world tilted a little on its axis at that. He drew her closer, drawing her arms more fully around himself so she was nestled into his chest, into his scent as she felt the reverberations of this revelation rocket through her.

And it seemed he was as moved as she for she could hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm where she rested her head, and she looked up meeting his onyx eyes. Meanwhile Young continued to sing, _'When we were strangers, I watched you from afar'_ , and Severus drew her even closer to him and began shuffling them gently around the floor.

His eyes were filled with such vulnerability; there was no masking the desire he had for her or the admiration and respect. Held in his arms like this, she didn't feel foolish or ridiculous. She didn't have reason to feel embarrassed that he 'caught her out' as it were, dancing and singing like a loon while she prepared her dinners, for the look in his eyes told her she was the farthest thing from foolish in his estimation.

Gulping, she reached up and moved some of the hair out of his face, leaving her hand placed at his jaw.

Turning his head, he nuzzled slightly into it, and closing his eyes, gently kissed her palms' center as they continued to sway to the slow-moving song.

The thought of Severus Snape as her lover filled her with a certain tingling anticipation, and it was all too soon the song ended, and he was reaching for the hand she still held at his jaw, bringing it to his lips and dusting a kiss along her knuckles.

He took a step back from her, and rasped, "Thank you, Hermione," and bowed formally over her hand. And then, reluctantly, it seemed to her, he released her. Another song, faster-paced, began to play, and not wanting to spoil the mood, Hermione turned the music down low.

"Are you hungry?" she asked him, gesturing to the plates of food she had just prepared.

He growled, "For what you make, witch?" his onyx eyes burned into hers, "Starved."

She gulped, his words causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

But he shook his head. "You are on strict economy; I have seen it, and I wouldn't want you to go without your dinner, even if what you've made is a beautiful feast for the eyes as well as the other senses."

Her pulse thrumming, Hermione took a step towards him, and said, "I can afford to share, you know? At least a little, and I wouldn't mind the company… as agreeable as it is," she ended on a smile.

He smirked, "In that case, witch… yes; I accept your invitation to dinner."

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Lucius could feel it. Something had changed.

The moment he stepped into the same room as Severus, he knew. It seemed somehow over the course of last evening, Severus had made his intentions toward Miss Granger known, and she had accepted him.

There was happiness, a sense of peaceful ease about the darker wizard, and Lucius gulped, swallowing down the jealousy he felt.

He was happy for his brother; truly he was. But that didn't stop Lucius from wanting that very happiness for himself.

"Severus, have you seen Miss Granger yet this morning?" Lucius asked casually.

He waited… with no response forthcoming from the other wizard.

"Severus?" Again, he questioned. Still no response. " _Severus_?" Now, Lucius was beginning to become irritated.

"Hermio… errm, no." The dark wizard turned around to face him; his occlumency shields falling into place. "I have yet to see her this morning. Why?"

"Oh," Lucius gestured to the items he held, "I have her dissertation as well as her journal. I'll try her in her room, shall I?"

A flash of jealousy appeared on Severus's face but was gone in an instant. "Suit yourself," the darker wizard said.

"Oh, I shall, brother. Believe me, I shall." With those words, Lucius left and made his way towards Miss Granger's room, knocking softly upon the door.

She appeared a moment later, an air of disappointment flashing on her face when she saw it was him, and then she put up her guard.

Lucius immediately held out her dissertation as well as her journal for her to take. "These, I believe, are yours. If you have a moment, I would like to discuss with you your dissertation? Would the courtyard in an hour be sufficient?"

Her eyes widened as she took both from him and clutched them to her chest. "I'm ready now, if you'd prefer it?" She was obviously eager to get at his opinion.

"I haven't yet had my breakfast, and as we are without an elf," Lucius quirked a small smile, "I'd invite you to dine with me, that is, if you haven't had breakfast as well, but I'm afraid my cooking skills are going to be put to the test to serve me, let alone someone of your considerable culinary acumen."

"Are you angling for me to cook for you again, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, a slight smirk on her face.

He shook his head, slightly insulted she would think so. "No, Miss Granger. Actually, I was not." He turned away from her and called over his shoulder shortly, "The courtyard in an hour."

"Wait," he heard her say, and then she was walking up to him, and touching him on the sleeve. "Please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so rude. I—" Lucius turned back to face her and saw her color was high. "I would be happy to have breakfast with you; that is, _if_ the offer is still open?"

"I never offered," he shook his head, "My cooking abilities—"

"Shall only be improved with my tutelage," she dimpled at him. "Come on. It's the least I can do for your taking the time to look over my dissertation and returning my journal. Thank you for that, by the way." She squeezed his arm, "Besides, the suspense is killing me to know your thoughts." And she led the way to the kitchen, all the while with Lucius smirking to himself.

The girl had played exactly as expected… straight into his hands.

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Hermione watched as Mr. Malfoy very inexpertly flipped the omelet they had been preparing, the stuffing running out its sides.

"It'll still taste the same though, right?" he asked her skeptically as he looked down at the pan.

She shrugged and looked down as well. "That depends, do you eat with your eyes or your stomach, sir?"

He looked up at her, his pale blue eyes piercing as he said, "How very philosophical of you, Miss Granger. Tell me, which do you prefer?"

"Aesthetics without function has never appealed to me. Beauty for beauty's sake is frivolous and a waste of space. And also doesn't taste very good."

"Ah, so you're one of those, are you?" He split the omelet down the middle and carried the plates to the trestle table, holding the chair for her to take a seat.

"One of whats?" she asked, placing the goblets of fresh-squeezed orange juice she'd made at their settings and then taking her seat.

He sat opposite her exactly where Severus had sat last night. And last night had been so very magical! Never would she ever have believed Severus Snape would want to... well, 'court' her as it were. It was in some respects too fantastic to be believed.

"I believe it was the muggle poet Keats who said, 'A thing of beauty is a joy forever'. However, you are one of those that believe art must serve a purpose, have a message in some respect," Mr. Malfoy continued, drawing her back into their conversation.

Hermione's eyes crinkled with a smile as she sawed into her busted omelet and took a bite. "Still tastes as good," she murmured reassuringly around her forkful. Chewing and swallowing, she said, "Even in joy, the thing of beauty has purpose. I challenge you to find a piece of art—be it natural or manufactured—that does not and cannot have a purpose ascribed to it in some respect. Even those that specifically do not, wind up having some meaning attributed to them, therefore the 'art for art's sake' argument is a fallacy and does not exist."

He saluted her with his goblet, "Clever girl. Incidentally, you are correct. It all hinges on a matter of perspective just as your dissertation does. Those sympathetic to your aims will find it a rousing piece of literature, I am sure. However, house-elf sympathizers are few and far between, especially when you get to the Wizengamot, whose owners comprise nearly four-fifths that general populace."

Hermione winced. This was not news to her. One thing the Ministry had instituted after her fourth year of schooling and the fiasco with Barty Crouch and Winky the house-elf, was a compelled registration for all magical sentient beings in a single household. The records were public knowledge; as were the wizards comprising the Wizengamot. She had done her homework, and the statistic Mr. Malfoy had just given her was correct.

At length, after he had finished his omelet and sat back with a replete sigh with his juice, he stated, "I find your work well-reasoned, Miss Granger, but ultimately naïve and short-sighted. You cannot hope to appeal to the Wizengamot's 'better nature' with this pathos-driven approach. It's infantile, and you are better than that. They need numbers, they need facts, they need a replacement work-force, for if not the house-elves then whom? You were lamentably murky on that point."

Hermione held up her hands. "Witches and wizards could learn to—"

"Do for themselves?" he smirked at her. "Come, come, Miss Granger. You know better! Might I suggest an alternative?" he looked down, "Are you finished? I would still like to take a stroll around the courtyard."

"But the dishes—" Hermione looked around at their plates and pans, knives and cutting boards, vegetables half-chopped and some absolutely massacred; Lucius Malfoy had none of the graceful economy of movement she had around the kitchen.

However, it had been quite an adventure making a mess with him.

"Will still keep, Miss Granger. Gods, woman! Do you ever take time to sit and relax?"

He waited beside her chair for her to get up, and Hermione did so, pointing her wand at each of the little messes that she could to set them to righting themselves.

Tsking, he took her by her wand arm and tugged her along. She changed her wand to her other hand and continued to point and cast spells over his shoulder, even as he led her through the doorway out into the courtyard.

"Ambidextrous, are you?" he asked, ushering her on.

"With wand-work? Absolutely," she answered, restoring her wand up her sleeve. "I don't think anyone who grew up when I did, didn't learn at least a few defensive spells to do with the other hand, in case their main was incapacitated."

"Yes, Draco is quite good at that as well," Mr. Malfoy said absently, and Hermione bit her lip.

His son Draco was a sore point with him, she knew. Draco Malfoy had quite disowned his father upon Lucius Malfoy's sentencing. Draco and his mother had taken what they could of the Malfoy family fortune and fled the country almost the moment Lucius's life sentence had been pronounced.

Having been the one to oversee his divorce at Narcissa Malfoy's insistence it be done, she knew the woman had long since gotten married to a very wealthy Albanian wizard. And Draco, too, had gotten engaged to a pure-blood German heiress. Neither had shown any interest in Mr. Malfoy in the ten years he had been incarcerated, nor it seemed thereafter when his sentence had been overthrown.

Hermione, herself, had written to Draco telling him of his father's reversal of fortune, but it had been nearly two months since, and no word back had been forthcoming.

She swallowed, "Mr. Malfoy—"

"Lucius, please, Miss Granger." He smiled tightly, his eyes still un-restful as he looked at the water cascading down the courtyard fountain. He continued absently, "I find it impractical to continue standing on ceremony when we are to be… _neighbors_ of a sort. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, I guess you're right… Lucius."

"Of course I am," he said with faux-conceit and gestured she should have a seat on the stone bench. "Now, back to your dissertation, Miss Granger—"

"Hermione, please," she interjected with a small smile.

His teeth flashed, "Hermione then. Back to your dissertation. You have very lofty ideals concerning house-elf equality and freedom."

She drew breath to argue the point, but he held up his hands. "Hear me out, please. You do, for a society hinging on such a slave force, have very elevated ideals concerning its removal. You've cited exceedingly well the reasons why this should be the case, and I cannot fault your argument there, but have you stopped to consider that perhaps the 'slaves' for lack of a better word, do not _wish_ to be freed?"

She again drew breath to defend, and he again stopped her, "Nuh-uh-ugh, wait. That question was rhetorical as I am not yet finished."

Biting her lip, she nodded up at him and waited for him to continue.

He quirked his lips at her in a small smile. "What if… you deflated your proposal a bit? Instead of aiming for house-elf freedom and equality, aim for instead… more stringent laws governing the keeping of house-elves. A welfare proviso if you will? That way an entire workforce is not put out to pasture—to live gods know how and where without their humans to take care of them and vice versa, and you are less likely to cause as many waves with the 'old-salt' council members of the Wizengamot who would not bat an eye at striking down your years of preparation for your dissertation and denying you entry to be advisory to the Council." His eyes crinkled at the corners at her, "And now I give you the floor. What say you?"

She thought about it for a moment as she pursed her lips.

What he was proposing was not without merit. And quite frankly, she'd had a difficult time trying to picture the house-elves in any other occupation besides domestic pursuits…

At length, she said, "I say it's a lot like a story I read once about a muggle lorry trapped in a tunnel. It wasn't until someone suggested letting air out of the lorry's tires that they were able to get the thing freed. What you're proposing is a lot like that I think. My goal will always be to see to the house-elves' freedom, but I will be unable to do so if I don't, at least, get my foot in the door. And alienating nearly four-fifths of my audience will hardly meet my aims…"

"There see?" he smirked at her, "Now you're thinking like a Slytherin."

She smiled up at him. "What does being Slytherin have to do with anything? It's just good sense."

He grinned winningly at her. "Precisely so, Hermione. Precisely so."

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Two days…

He had seen neither hide nor hair of Hermione in two days' time, and Severus was beginning to get worried. She hadn't come down to make a meal or to even go to the lavatory.

He should know for he had been listening.

Lucius, too, had been suspiciously absent from the common areas of the house of late, staying mostly to his room.

All in all, Severus felt quite excluded.

Upon the third day, he'd had enough and knocked upon her door. The door opened with a soundless latch, the usual wards she had in place preventing it opening having fallen away.

More than a little anxious now, Severus peered inside, and his mouth opened in a soundless gasp at the wreckage he saw. Papers and books were strewn everywhere; there were charts, graphs, and muggle contraptions upon every surface, some spitting out paper, others scanning it in.

And the witch responsible for this beaurocratic nightmare was seated at her desk, her back to him, staring ominously at the wall, her rat's nest hair stuffed with quills and flecked with bits of parchment.

Trying—and failing—not to imagine the worst, Severus again called out, "Miss Granger…?" as he tentatively stepped into her room.

"Hermione…?" Still no response.

Severus reached for her shoulder. "Hermione?" The chair swiveled at his touch, and he slowly turned her around to face him.

She was glassy-eyed and unresponsive.

Heart in his throat, Severus crouched before her, again rasping her name to illicit a response, trying to get her to react with no reply forthcoming. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and reached for the pulse at her wrist.

Her pulse was thundering.

However, her breathing was slow, deep, and even. Severus cursed his absence of a wand and the diagnostic spells he would not be able to perform.

"LUCIUS!" he rasped as loudly as he was able, beating on the steel leg of the desk with a book to get his brother's attention. She still remained unresponsive to any of the stimuli around her, not even flinching when she really ought to at the sound he was making. "LUCIUS!"

"Severus?" Lucius asked from the hall, and Severus looked up. The blond wizard was looking around her room with wide eyes, and then his gaze fell upon her, and Severus saw him visibly recoil.

"Good gods!" the blond wizard burst out, rushing to kneel before her, "What's happened?"

Severus grit through clenched teeth, "I think what Potter tried to warn us about with her study habits has finally come to pass."

Lucius reached for her jaw, and she closed her eyes, at last, resting her head against his palm. "Had I known our little conversation in the courtyard would have sent you into such a tailspin, my dear," he murmured, scolding, "I would have kept better watch over you."

"What did you tell her?" Severus asked, looking at his brother accusingly. By gods, if Lucius said anything to harm her—

"At ease, Severus." Lucius looked at him sharply. "I was honest and told her my opinion. That is all. The girl agreed and began working on changes to her dissertation forthwith." Lucius looked back at her, his jaw once more clenching as he caressed her cheek with his thumb, "It seems she hasn't stopped since."

Lucius looked back to him for guidance.

"Bath," Severus decided meeting his eyes and saying via Legilimency, _**'Cold water. We'll try to shock her out of it. It worries me she remains so unresponsive.'**_

Lucius nodded and released her cheek.

Bending forward, Severus drew her by the knees and waist until he had hold of her and stood with Lucius grabbing her nightgown and robe draped across her bed. "Look through her things," Severus called over his shoulder, "and see if you find any potion; she's not sleeping though she's in some sort of catatonic state; we need to get her heart rate down." Severus carried her in his arms, the dear weight of her bushy quill-infested head resting against his shoulder as he bore her to the lavatory.

Gads, but she reeked of grime, sweat, and obsession!

And it was with clinical detachment, Severus divested her of her witch's robes, removing as many of the quills as he could from her hair in the process. Lucius came in just as he was lowering her into the ice cold water.

She didn't respond.

"I found her bath kit with her shampoo and the soap she prefers, Severus, but no somnolence potion. Only what I believe are stimulants, plenty of stimulants… and lots of empty phials of the stuff."

Severus tsk'd as he took off his robes and began rolling up his shirt-sleeves to the elbow.

It seems this was one of Hermione Granger's dirty, little secrets. And would explain why the witch didn't want for extra food or the occasional trip to the lavatory, pending on the potion she'd been ingesting.

Lucius took off his suit jacket and began rolling up his sleeves as well. He handed Severus the soap and a flannel he'd brought with him, and Severus handed Lucius a pitcher of clean water, and both began to bathe her.

She barely stirred when Lucius poured cold water over the crown of her head and began working lather into her hair; Severus, meanwhile, tended to the rest of her, washing every part of her body save for her head.

He was absolutely furious with the witch for allowing herself to get to such a state!

Pending on the potion she had been ingesting, the effects could have the potential for causing great harm, and she had obviously been abusing for a while if this episode was anything to go by.

Draining the water, Lucius wrapped her head in a towel, and Severus drew her from the bath, putting her into Lucius's waiting arms with the bath sheet. And together, they dried and dressed her in her nightgown and robe. Severus once more carried her back upstairs while Lucius went to the kitchen to fetch her a meal.

Upon placing Hermione in bed, Severus drew the covers up around her, and looked about for the wastebasket. Finding one of the empty phials, he held it up to his nose, recognizing many of the ingredients but not the particular brew itself.

He combed through her things until he found her stash—at least forty phials of the stuff, and taking one of the lavender-hued things, he popped the cork, and with his pinky, rimmed the phial and then put it to his lips to taste.

Severus looked down at her in shock.

It was a mixture of Wide-eye and Pepper-up potions: a very potent mixture, indeed. And his little idiot had been taking this for gods only knew how long.

Gathering all the phials he could find, Severus waved his hand and banished the lot, getting rid of all of them.

The potions were not addictive in that the user would unwittingly crave more, but they did lose efficacy over time thus leading to tolerance, and then their eventual abuse. They would have to wait until this latest 'high' coursed through her system, and by his rough estimation, it could be anytime from now until five hours from now, pending on when she ingested her last dose.

"I found tinned soup and crackers, Severus. I hope that's alright?"

"Put it under stasis; she won't be eating anytime soon," Severus told him, pulling up a chair to her bedside.

"What is it?" Lucius nodded toward the empty phials.

Severus looked at him and said via Legilimency, _**'Miss Granger imagines herself a potioneer, I suspect, and has been dosing herself with her own cocktail of 'Wide-eye' and 'Pepper-up'. The efficacy is highly potent. I, in fact, got a hum just from sampling the stuff.'**_

He watched Lucius's eyebrows raise as he, too, pulled up a chair. "Will she be alright? What do you propose we do with her?"

' _ **In the state she's in?'**_ Severus countered angrily with his thoughts, _**'The little idiot deserves to be hanged by her toes and flogged.'**_

Lucius retorted dryly, "Let's save the tar and feathers, shall we, for another offense? This one seems a bit mild."

' _ **Mild, Lucius?'**_ Severus's eyes flashed fire, _**'The fact that she's in a stupor is telling, indeed, as are her dilated pupils and her tachycardic pulse. She's high as a kite! The witch could have killed herself, or rendered herself persistent vegetative with the amount of glop she's been ingesting! And if that had happened, there's not a damned thing I could have done about it under the circumstances without my wand or usual store of potions. I can't even 'floo' us to St. Mungo's. I don't think you understa—'**_

"Oh, I understand more than you might think, brother mine," Lucius looked up at him and met Severus's eyes, his filled with steely resolve. "Our Hermione has a plethora of insecurities, Severus, that will not be helped by your blustering at her once she's recovered from this… 'stupor' she's in. Trust me when I say you will only make the recrimination she's going to give herself worse. The witch has been through much in her short life and is deserving of your respect and your compassion, _not your ire_. Do you understand?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "How do you know—?"

Lucius frowned, "Her journal. I used the crystal to duplicate it, and since she unlocked her version three days ago, I've been holed up in my room reading the damned thing cover to cover." Lucius gave him a level look. "And let me tell you, Severus, some parts are hair-raising indeed. For being the 'beautiful, clever female third of the 'Golden Trio' and given so many gifts in this life, Hermione Granger has one hell of a dark side to counterbalance the light. She's been kicked to hell and gone by practically everyone she's known save Potter and those muggles at her club. She's come to expect it, Severus; especially by those in the wizarding world."

Severus was at once intrigued and dismayed by Lucius's words.

And the pale-eyed wizard entreated him for understanding. "When she wakes up, don't give Hermione what she expects. It will only lead to more self-loathing and feed the spiral of depression she tends to go down when incidents such as this do occur. Trust me when I say, Severus, the girl has had enough of _that_ to last a life-time."

"Depression?" Severus asked, absorbing all of what Lucius had told him.

"Clinically diagnosed, yes, by muggle psycha-whatsits. They also said she has a severe 'social-anxiety disorder' stemming from a need for perfection." Severus watched as Lucius reached for one of the curls at Hermione's crown and brushed it gently to the side. "The girl expects too much from herself, and this is why she's been as successful as she's been, but it's also a curse as well. That and her muggle parents, but… I've only just started reading about _them_."

"Tell me," Severus barked, "Tell me all of what you know."

And fervently, Severus listened as Lucius began to speak.

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Hermione gradually became aware of her surroundings and was, all of a sudden, both disturbed and comforted by the silence surrounding her.

Opening her eyes, she looked around and saw that she was still in her room, but she was in bed. That wasn't right. Why was she in bed? She had way too much to do to be abe—

"Good afternoon, Hermione," a voice rasped by her bedside, and she looked up wide-eyed. Both Severus Snape and Lucius were sitting to either side of her bed and had been apparently for a while.

"How are you feeling?" Lucius inquired with a small smile.

Oh, dear God! What had she done? The last thing she remembered was drafting the outline for the new house-elf rights' legislative bill she wanted to submit with her dissertation.

The potion—a combination of two stimulants—was a hold-over from her Magus University days when she had been juggling working a full-time job and taking a full course-load. Sleep, then, as now had been at a minimum, and without a time-turner, she had needed something to keep her going that was more potent than caffeine yet less addictive. She had done her research, and through trials and tests had invented the potion she liked to call 'I-pep'.

The only trouble was, the longer she took it, the more her body had developed a tolerance to it, and she was having to make the stuff in stronger and stronger batches in order for it to be effective—dangerous, she knew, but as the ingredients were all relatively benign, she figured her body could tolerate the additional strain.

Over the last three days—had it been three days?— she knew she had ingested phial after phial of the stuff, unthinking—thinking only that she had to get one more sentence, one more thought, one more addendum to the piece of legislation she was crafting to go along with her modified dissertation put into place….

She licked her lips. "I feel…" she closed her eyes, "incredibly stupid."

Severus grit, "That's good, witch, because you—"

"Must be starved after your time spent in your room, are you not?" Lucius interrupted smoothly, and Hermione opened her eyes to feel the weight of a tray settle upon her lap. She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy's crystalline eyes peering down into hers, except within them, she saw no judgment or condemnation, only understanding.

She gulped and nodded feeling slightly comforted.

"It's only tinned soup and crackers. But I _did_ warm it up," he finished proudly.

Grabbing her wand off the dresser, she removed the stasis charm and looked up at Lucius skeptically. "Still edible?"

"I'll have you know, young miss, I have prepared tinned soup before with some success."

Her eyes widened as he sat upon the bed and raising her, plumped the pillows behind her until she was sitting up. "What do you think I've been living on for the last few days, hmm?" he asked her. Picking up her spoon and blowing on the contents, Lucius held it up to her mouth.

Hesitantly, she opened for him, and swallowed some of the soup he fed her, "Still edible… but barely tolerable."

"Well, we'll have to save the haute cuisine until you're back on your feet, hmm?" He again held the spoon up to her lips, and she dutifully swallowed. This was yet another surreal moment: being fed tinned soup by Lucius Malfoy in her robe and nightgown while Severus Snape sat and watched.

Suddenly realizing what she was wearing, and then looking back up at the wizards before her, her cheeks pinkened. "Did you—"

"Lucius and I did what we thought was best." Severus said tersely from her bedside.

She looked over and met his implacable stare as she gulped the spoonful of soup she'd been fed sticking in her throat. He spoke slowly and low, his every word clipped, "We were going to shock your system first with cold water to bring you out of your stupor, Miss Granger, but then Lucius found the phials—"

"I can explain—" she began

Professor Snape scoffed, "Don't bother. They're gone, and you are never," he leaned forward in his chair until his face was inches from hers as he ground out, " _ever_ to ingest either potion again for the rest of your days. Do you understand?" His voice died in a terrible whisper.

Pursing her lips, she hung her head and tried hard not to let the overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment overcome her. "Yes, sir."

She felt gentle, prompting fingers at her chin and looked up. Lucius quirked a small smile and held up another spoonful of the god-awful soup.

She shook her head, smiling blearily. "Please," she whispered, "I'd just like to be left alone."

"Not going to happen, Miss Granger. Not for the next forty-eight hours at least." Professor Snape grated from her bedside, sitting back in his chair. "Perhaps not even then." He picked up one of her books and leafed through the pages until he again found his spot, not even sparing her a look as he stated, "If you're going to cry, do so now and have done. We're not leaving."

Lucius tsk'd above her and shook his head. "What the insensitive brute to my right is trying to say, Hermione, is that we were both concerned for you, my dear, and we still wish to keep watch over you until the effects of the potion you've ingested are completely out of your system. But you are a grown witch, and able to decide for yourself whether or not this is agreeable, hmm?" Lucius quirked another smile and held out another spoonful on insipid soup for her to take.

She smiled slightly but shook her head declining the soup. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm fine now. You both can leave."

"Can, but not willing," Professor Snape ground, licking his thumb and slowly turning a page.

She bit her lip and looked over at him; his jaw was hard as granite. "Oh, honestly!" Hermione looked up at Lucius to gain his support.

The blond wizard's lips twitched. "I would gladly stay to run interference, my dear." He sketched a small bow as he stood with the tray, "However, I, at least, will adhere to your wishes."

She gave a sad, watery chuckle, the preposterousness of her situation asserting itself. "Please stay." She gestured to his vacated chair.

"Sleep," Professor Snape ordered.

Lucius also nodded, "On this I must concur with hard-nosed Severus over there. You _do_ need your rest."

She licked her lips. "But my dissertation—"

The book Professor Snape was holding slammed shut with a 'crack', and he suddenly took her by her chin, again coming nose to nose with her as he grit via Legilimency, _**'Know this, I am biting my tongue to keep from saying some very uncomplimentary things concerning the deplorable lack of judgment and intelligence you've displayed over the course of three days' time. I will be monitoring your activities in the future, Miss Granger, and by Merlin's staff, if you step one toe out of line with me, I will make certain you live to regret it.'**_

"Do you understand?" he finished in a lethal whisper.

Wide-eyed and gulping, she hesitantly nodded, and he released her chin.

"Good," he rasped, once more not looking at her, and picking up his book again, he thumbed through the pages until he found his spot. "Sleep," he barked.

Not wanting to incur his wrath any more, Hermione settled back and closed her eyes, feeling another paradigm shift occur within her.

Within moments, she was asleep.

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Lucius watched as Severus came in bearing a tray.

It was day two of Severus's enforced bed-rest of the girl, and she was only allowed to get up and go to the lavatory and then return back to bed. The first day, the witch had slept over eighteen hours, and the second well over twelve.

However, she was wide-awake now, and showing Lucius how absolutely abysmal she was at playing wizard's chess. "How can a woman so well adept at arguing so fiercely in print, be so terrible at strategy?"

"Words versus action," Severus answered sitting down a tray in her lap and plumping up her pillows. "Miss Granger is a 'linguistic architect'." Both Lucius and Hermione looked over at him questioningly as he handed Lucius a plate as well as taking one for himself.

"Does that mean I 'talk a good game but don't follow through?'" she asked, dubiously prodding her resisting queen across the board to be annihilated by Lucius's knight thus ending their game.

Lucius's lips twitched as he took a sip of the truly delicious wine the girl had liberated from her stores and enjoyed the byplay between the two before him.

"The pen is mightier than the sword." Severus smirked; his eyes alight with teasing. "You've proved that time and again, …gods know with the accursed essays you'd write. Nearly crushed me under the weight of them."

"The various meanings of the word, 'press' come to mind," she grinned over at him as she cut into her seasoned chicken.

Severus continued, whispering, "A 'linguistic architect' means you understand things on an abstract as well as concrete level and exhibit brilliance when it comes to wordplay and usage. You can clearly communicate new ideas and see how they fit into different contexts. _That_ 's what makes you a good logician and will serve you well as a member of Council, should that be where you wish your career to go."

"And yet, with actual material strategy, I'm hopeless," she sighed as she finished her last bite of greens, and Lucius offered the ones off his plate to her. The girl had gained a semblance of health and radiance back through their care, but she was still too gaunt by half.

He had noticed that over the course of the weeks they'd stayed together.

She was entirely too thin, and when the house-elf had been in residence, there was no reason for this to be the case.

"No. Not hopeless, just… average," Severus grated and cleared his throat, his frail voice giving out. He mouthed, "We all of us have our gifts, Hermione. That's not yours."

"And we all of us have our foibles," Lucius interjected smirking at his brother, "For example, did you know Severus is absolutely atrocious at cleaning charms?"

She looked up and smiled softly." 'Scrub the cauldrons by hand for detention' Professor Snape horrid at cleaning charms?" she asked with wide-eyed wonder. "No! I can't even imagine! You don't say?" she looked over at Severus and smirked.

Severus pointed a finger at Lucius accusingly and mouthed, "Cooking, cleaning, practicalities of daily living…"

Lucius sniffed, "I _can_ still clean my own clothes wandlessly without the aid of an elf, Severus. In fact, I've never met a charm that didn't lay down like a lover for me. You, however…"

"Wrote some pretty useful ones, Lucius," Hermione interjected, "that I, in fact, still use to this day thanks to the 'Half-blood Prince'." She dimpled towards the dark wizard, and Lucius had the privilege of watching Severus's mouth open but no words come out.

A rarity… even _with_ his vocal impediment.

"It _is_ going to take the three of us, you know?" Hermione continued, looking between the two of them, biting her delectable lower lip. "To run this house without an elf. I'm sure food stores are getting low by now, and I'm loathe to ask Harry to borrow any more money. Over the years, I've taken enough."

Lucius looked towards Severus and raised his eyebrows. Severus, meanwhile looked within, his face going stony once more. Again, the Potter charity issue was a galling reminder of just where they were and what they were doing there.

Without his social connections, Lucius was all but useless to the two beside him. Hermione needed to work to finish her degree, but Severus… he was a working man… used to a working man's wage….

"Say, Severus… how do you feel about prostitution?" Lucius asked, his eyes dancing with wicked delight.

The two looked at him, mouths agape.

Hermione was the first to recover by saying off-hand, "You know, I did have a grandmother that used to say, 'Every woman is sitting on a gold mine'." she shrugged, "I can't help but think you gentlemen wouldn't be any different."

"You're grandmother sounds like quite the pip, my dear," Lucius murmuring, leaning towards her, "Incidentally, if you're offering? I accept, witch. Name your fee."

She gave him a level look and muttered dryly, "You can't afford me."

Lucius smirked, and looked up studying his brother who was, in turn, studying the girl. "Well, there's always Severus, here. How do you feel, brother, about whoring yourself out for monetary gain? What's the muggle expression? Taking one for the team…" Lucius watched in glee as Severus's ears began to turn red.

Oh, he did so enjoy embarrassing the dark wizard, and in front of a pretty witch too!

He decided, however, to end the torture before Severus truly took offense as he clarified, "Of your work, Severus. You could prostitute your work. Sell potions by a roadside somewhere."

His eyes widening in realization, Severus soon snorted and shook his head, "Practicalities, see?" he mouthed to Hermione and rolled his eyes.

Hermione licked her lips. "I have a rudimentary potion's kit, and Ginny may have some of what I lack around here somewhere, but… how could we possibly afford the ingredients, Lucius? Not to mention the wand-work? All potions require some form of spell-work, and you two don't have wands. We really need to get Harry on that. It's been over a month!"

Lucius was undaunted by her questions. "Pick a potion, Severus, that has the most yield in profit for as little start-up as possible, and that's the one we shall brew."

"We?" Hermione asked him.

"We… yes." Lucius smiled tightly. " _You_ are the one with the wand, after all. Any conglomeration Severus brews is liable to come to only muck with just his wandless magic to sustain him. Not even my crystal would do for such precision-timed displays."

She shook her head. " _I_ am the one that seriously needs to get back to her revision and re-drafting of her dissertation. I have less than ten days before it's got to go back to Alec for approval."

"And you have me here to help you every step of the way. If there's one thing I know, it's bureaucracy and politics, my dear," Lucius pointed out, smiling knowingly.

The look on her face was priceless.

'Shocked devastation' was apt, as well as 'blind panic' and 'loss of control'. "No," she murmured weakly, and then more adamantly, "Absolutely not."

"Do you want to continue to eat, Hermione, or not?" Lucius asked her baldly.

"Eating's over-rated; especially if _you're_ the one doing the cooking," she pointed at him and sniffed daintily, "I've foraged for food before, I can do it again."

"And there you have it!" Lucius smiled beatifically. "Our solution presents itself."

Lucius looked over at Severus to find his eyes going wide as he cottoned on to what Lucius was saying.

"By hook or by crook, eh?" Severus whispered.

"Yes, indeed, Potions Master Snape." Lucius grinned. "Yes, indeed."

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A/N: Closer and yet closer still. Another update will hopefully happen soon.

Reviews, my dear readers, are like pennies from heaven. Fill this authoress's pockets to overflowing, won't you?

-K


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